


Traverse

by thestoryinsideme



Series: Traverse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst, Canon Compliant through 9.09, Destiel - Freeform, Drinking Games, Honesty, M/M, POV Castiel, Pining Castiel, Post-Episode: s09e09 Holy Terror, Season/Series 09, Sexual Content, Some Fluff, Truth, dean/cas - Freeform, spear of destiny, spn universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:23:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 40,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestoryinsideme/pseuds/thestoryinsideme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly re-angeled, Castiel strengthens and deepens his vastly different relationships with each of the Winchester brothers, and finds that despite his new status, he can't quite shake his humanity. While working toward returning the fallen angels to Heaven, Castiel must face the consequences of stealing the grace of another angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Post 9.09/includes spoilers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After consuming Theo's grace and becoming angel again, Castiel learns that he is able to fly.

Castiel is pleased to find that he can fly.  The wings of other angels, the ones who were spewed from heaven as a result of the spell, are of no use to them, having been damaged beyond all otherworldly capacity for repair.  Those angels are limited to travel only by means available to their vessels. Castiel believes now that this was Metatron’s intention all along, to strip the angels of their divine identity-the ability to traverse all of creation. The first ejected angel he came across as a human, Hael, questioned her worth immediately.  “What’s an angel without it’s wings?” she asked him, and in that moment he wondered if Metatron had been, in his warped mind, treating him favorably by choosing to use his grace in the spell, by making him human rather than subjecting him to the horrific expulsion. 

Because Castiel’s grace was taken from him prior to Metatron’s spell, his wings did not suffer the same fate.  Now, with this new, albeit stolen grace, many of his angelic powers appear to be restored.  He is glad that he can fly again.  It will serve as an advantage over his grounded brethren, an advantage he will surely need.

His thoughts turn to Dean Winchester.  He must tell Dean about Ezekiel.  He should inform him of Malachi and the developing angel factions.  Dean is his second thought, not his first, and he feels shame in that.  There was a time, when he was Dean Winchester’s heavenly appointed guardian, that his first thought was always Dean.  “I am not here to perch on your shoulder” he had told Dean early on, but that had not been entirely true and “perching” soon became his favorite pastime.  A lot has happened since then, around them and between them. Castiel recalls other times when Dean was not his first, second, or even third thought, but those were bad times for which Castiel still harbors a mountain of sorrow and remorse.  He has vowed to not repeat those mistakes.

He could be at Dean’s side in a moment, but instead he finds himself at a dusty, neglected public payphone.  It will be better to communicate this way, Castiel reasons. He has much to do and no time to waste, he will explain to Dean, but the truth is that he worries that he will be dismissed yet again by the man who was his first friend and, for a long time, his only friend.  He is not sure how a third brush-off within a matter of weeks would affect his teetering mental state. His human feelings are unpredictable and undisciplined and have more often than not created turmoil. Human emotions, he has found, are accompanied by various physical manifestations. He is beginning to recognize these signs and finds that this enables him to assert some manner of control.  With the new grace thrumming through his body, (and he does now consider his former vessel to truly be his own body) he questions whether those feelings he struggles to understand will dissipate as a result of the grace injection.  Ten minutes into his brutal and unorthodox undertaking, his stomach twists at the memory of Dean Winchester’s rejection, and he knows that as of now his humanity remains. Castiel is both relieved and disappointed as he picks up the phone and calls Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://thestoryinsideme.tumblr.com//) here!


	2. Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in months, Castiel hears a desperate prayer from Dean.

He can go anywhere now, but Castiel decides to stay close to the bunker and the Winchesters.  There will be repercussions, he knows, for what he has done, and although a Himalayan summit would be his usual choice for the concentration and reflection he has planned, he would be stranded if he suddenly lost power.  He does not know how long the foreign grace will function within his angelic framework.  What he has done is without precedent, and had Metatron not sliced his throat open, had Malachi not kidnapped and tortured him, taking the grace of a brother would never have occurred to him.  Circumstances demanded it, and Castiel is satisfied that he did what he had to do. 

Still, he feels regret. He is familiar with regret, has felt it many times before, but this time it is somehow different. This regret is not as absolute, not as firm as what he felt in the past as an angel. It is tempered, qualified.  It is a lesser regret, he decides, if there is such a thing, a minor emotion, and it all but disappears entirely when he hears the voice of Dean Winchester. 

Castiel closes his eyes and listens.  It has been too long since he has heard Dean in this way.  Dean’s prayers are honest.  Dean’s prayers are expressive.  Dean’s prayers are often strangely eloquent.  Dean’s prayers are everything his spoken words are not and Castiel has missed them more than flying.

This prayer is not eloquent. Dean is saying words, not sentences. “Kevin.”  “Sam.”  “Fuck.”  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats over and over.  “Cas, please,” he says finally, then takes a deep breath and there is silence.  Castiel braces himself for flight, when Dean continues. 

“Cas, are you there?” His voice is calmer now. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m betting, I’m hoping that you can, since you’re all mojo’d up.“  Dean pauses again, takes in a long and shaky breath. “I have no right to ask anything of you,” he says, and his cadence wavers slightly, his tone deepens. “I have no right to want you here, but I do. “ 

Castiel longs to go to him, but he waits. This is Dean, the real Dean, the true Dean, not the man who sent him away when he was most vulnerable and then mocked his human experience. He wants to hear all of this Dean’s prayer.

“I had no right to offer you forgiveness,” he says. “What a fucking hypocrite I am.  I had no right to make you go without telling you. I should have told you, man, I should have…” Dean does not continue this thought.  Castiel is confused, does not understand what he is saying, but continues to listen.  “I have no right to need you, I know, but I need you here, Cas. I want you home. I always did. It never stopped.  It never…” Castiel bows his head.  These are words he has wanted to hear, but the desperation behind the delivery somehow weakens the message. “So I’m asking you.  Come Cas. Please. And when you get here, only truth Cas, I swear. From here on out. Just, please.”

Castiel lifts his head, squints as the sun hits his eyes, and goes.

 

 


	3. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel returns to the bunker to find that nothing is as he had believed.

When Castiel arrives at the bunker he finds Dean alone with the still warm body of Kevin Tran. The prophet’s death was caused by an angel, that much is clear, but Dean sits silently in a chair beside Kevin, his eyes fixed on the young man’s face, and offers no further explanation.  Castiel is not sure Dean knows he is there.

“Dean.” Castiel speaks softly.

Dean looks up and his mouth falls open.  His eyes are wet and swollen, his arms crossed in front of him, his shoulders trembling.  Castiel recognizes this as despair, although he has not seen Dean in such a state since his brother saved the world by jumping into the Pit of Hell and locking Lucifer in the cage. 

“That was quick,” Dean says.  “I guess that grace thing is working for you.”

It lacks Dean’s usual glibness to be sarcasm, and Castiel recognizes it for what it is - a misguided attempt at humor.  For reasons Castiel does not fully understand, Dean’s statement angers him. 

“What happened Dean?” His tone is harsher than intended.  His words sound like an accusation and inwardly he cringes.

Dean does not react.  “You’re right,” he says quietly.  “It’s my fault.  It all is.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow.  “What is your fault?”

Dean does not answer at first.  Castiel can think of many things that he would consider to be Dean’s fault, including the all too human desire he now feels to move closer to Dean, to comfort him, regardless of what he has done or said.  But Dean believes that everything is his fault. Castiel knows this yet does not go to him.  Instead he steps toward the prophet and hunkers down beside the lifeless figure.

“I wasn’t sure if you could come, or if you even would…”

Castiel raises his voice. “Dean.  Focus.”  Castiel touches the dead boy’s head, his neck, then his chest.  “Where is Sam?” he asks without looking up.

“Can you?” 

Castiel knows what Dean is asking.  He takes Kevin’s open hand and lays it gently on his chest, then places the other hand over it.  He looks more peaceful this way.  “No.  I cannot,” he says.

Dean nods. 

“This was a very powerful angel Dean.  He was very thorough. Even with my original grace I would not be able to undo the harm done here.”

Dean nods again.   “I think Sam is dead.  I think he killed Sam too.”

Castiel jumps up and looks around, half expecting to find Sam’s charred face and limp body nearby, but he knows that if Sam was lying dead somewhere in the bunker, Dean would not be sitting here by Kevin.  Sam always comes first, in life and in death.

“Dean. What do you mean? What happened?  Who did this?”

Dean rubs his hand across his face.  “There’s an angel in Sam.  He killed Kevin.  He said that Sam is gone too. “

“In Sam?  You mean using him as a vessel?”

“Yes.”

Castiel feels a pain in his chest. It is human fear. Fear has been the most difficult of emotions Castiel has had to deal with.  He does not like it.  When Dean investigated the deaths in Rexford and he admitted to Dean that he felt fear, he also felt shame.  He had felt something akin to fear as an angel, but it was not all encompassing, it was not crippling and degrading.  He had wanted to explain that to Dean, but he couldn't find the right words at the time-another less than desirable human trait.  His fear as an angel was much like the regret he has felt for stealing the grace – a lesser emotion.  But human fear is infinite in its power. He wishes that Theo’s grace would swallow up his human fear so that he never has to feel it again.

“Who is it?”  Castiel asks.

“I don’t know.  He said he was Ezekiel.”

“Is it Lucifer?”

Dean shakes his head.  “I don’t think so. I think I would recognize that motherfucker. I don’t know for sure but I don’t think so.”

Castiel nods.  Lucifer is locked in the cage. Metatron’s spell targeted the angels of Heaven.  He has never heard of a spell that would release an imprisoned angel from Hell, but then again, he had known nothing of the spell that tossed the angels to earth prior to it being cast.  He will not discount it completely.  He has learned that anything is possible.

“Why did Sam allow an angel to…”

“He didn’t.”  Dean stands and faces Castiel.  “I did it. Sam didn’t even know. I tricked him into saying yes.  He was sick and…"  Dean shakes his head.  "I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Castiel takes in a sharp breath.  It was only a few short months ago when he offered the same words to Dean, only to be told in no uncertain terms that his explanation was worthless, his apologies not enough.  He can respond in kind, tell Dean “you always do,” but that urge leaves as quickly as it came. 

“Dean, I need to know everything,” Castiel says instead.  “You can not leave things out.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” Dean nods.  “Only truth,” he says as Castiel places his hand on his shoulder and nods in agreement with him.

Truth from Dean Winchester is a tall order, but it is what Castiel has been promised and what he intends to get. 

 


	4. Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeping with Dean's promise of "only truth", Castiel and Dean talk about some things with the help of Dean's friend Jack Daniels.

Castiel forces Dean to eat.  They sit in the kitchen and talk while Dean reluctantly bites off small pieces of the sandwich Castiel prepared for him.  Castiel tells Dean that he is certain that if the angel wearing Sam said "there is no more Sam”, he meant that he had locked Sam deep into his subconscious rather than death, and that brings a spark of life to the man’s stunning eyes. Dean’s eyes have always intrigued Castiel and have caused him, on more than one occasion, to impolitely stare at his friend. Their natural color varies in shade and intensity and today they are leaf green, banded in black like polished malachite. Castiel quietly focuses on those eyes while a somewhat galvanized Dean Winchester lays out for him the events of the many weeks since the aborted final demon trial and the fall of the angels.

Tomorrow they will make a pyre and give Kevin a hunter’s funeral.  Tomorrow they will strategize and execute whatever plan they make to recover Sam.  For now, they wrap Kevin’s body tightly in white sheets and lay him on the bed in his room.  When Dean asks for some time alone with the prophet, Castiel gives it to him and leaves him to his grieving.

 

He finds Dean in the library.  He is on the floor, leaning back against a wall of books, a three-quarters full bottle of whiskey held loosely in his fist. Castiel frowns.  “We have much work to do tomorrow Dean.  Is it wise to be drinking right now?”

Dean huffs, then smirks and holds the bottle out at arm's length, admiring it.  “Drinking this bottle of Jack is going to be the wisest thing I have done in months, Cas.”

Castiel knows better than to argue about liquor consumption with Dean Winchester.  He glances nervously around the room, unsure of whether he should leave his friend to his bereavement or if he should stay.

“You know, I could tell you were angeled up right away. Even if you’d never told me, I would have known.” Dean says. “So it’s all business again.  Is that it Cas?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.” 

“Right.  Of course you don’t.”  Castiel detects the familiar hint of sarcasm.  “It didn’t last long, but you were a pretty okay human.”

The flash of anger hits Castiel abrupty and he looks away from Dean, his jaw tight, his lips pinched.  “And how would you know that Dean?  You spent one day in Idaho and you think you know all about what kind of human I am?”

“You _were_.”  Dean corrects him.  “You mean what kind of human you _were_.”

Castiel breathes in to relax his clenched muscles.  He must exercise control over these wayward emotions, especially now.  Dean needs his patience, his tolerance, and that is the least he can offer him while he mourns.  “I’m sorry Dean.  I know now why you did what you did.  It’s just that it still feels…” Castiel stops. 

“No, it’s okay Cas.  That’s a pretty normal reaction.  Sit down.  Talk to me.  Have a drink with me.”  He pats the floor beside him.

Castiel lowers himself to the floor beside Dean and Dean hands him the bottle.  “Why are we drinking?”  he asks. 

“So many reasons, Cas.  Too many reasons, actually.  Even my reasons have reasons that are wrapped in other reasons."

Castiel wants to enjoy Dean's idiom but he can not comprehend it, although he knows that it must be funny.   "Speak plain please Dean."  

"So we can talk.”

Dean's response perplexes Castiel.  “Why do we have to drink to talk? We have been talking all day without imbibing.”

Dean grabs the bottle from Castiel and takes a swig.  “I don’t need it for the talking part.  I need it for the truth part.”

“Were you not truthful with me earlier Dean?”

“No, no, I was, I swear. It’s just that, well, some truths are harder than others.”

“What can be more difficult than confessing to allowing an angel whose identity was unknown to you to enter your brother without his consent and knowledge, and then betraying your brother, your friends, and your colleagues in order to keep the secret that culminated in the death of a prophet of the Lord?” 

Castiel's tone is deadpan.  He means no malice by his words, but still they seem to slap Dean in the face. Dean blinks at him several times before responding.  “You don’t miss a beat, do you Cas.”

“Did I leave something out?”

“No, no.  You pretty much summed it all up.”

Silence settles between them for several minutes. Castiel wonders if he has done something wrong, but Dean does not look angry, he looks sad, which is expected under the circumstances. Nonetheless, it is an improvement over how he appeared hours ago when Castiel first arrived.  Minutes pass, which feels like a long time to Castiel, (the ever present awareness of the passing of time is something about being human that Castiel is happy to still have), before Dean turns to him with a half-grin. 

“How about we play a game,” he says.

“A game?  What kind of game?”

Dean raises his eyebrows.  “A drinking game.”

Castiel finds it odd that Dean wants to play a game while Kevin Tran lies dead in another room and Sam has been stolen by a rogue angel, but he has seen people grieve in unique and individual ways and Dean Winchester is as unique and individual as they come.  Dean wants him to play a game with him, Castiel enjoys games, and Dean is nearly smiling.  He will not refuse.

“All right.  Do you have the game here or shall I go get it?”  Castiel looks around the room for Twister or Sorry, or any one of the board games he learned how to play when he was in the Institution. 

“Nah.  I said a drinking game Cas.  All we need is this.”  He shoves the bottle into Castiel’s hand.  “You go first.”

Castiel accepts the bottle, sips from it, then tips it toward Dean. 

Dean shakes his head.  “You’re Superman again so I think you’re gonna have to go three to my one.  Take two more.”

Castiel complies quickly.  “Are we getting drunk?”  he asks sincerely. 

“Yeah we are.” 

They pass the bottle back and forth several times, and despite the welcome fact that Castiel is beginning to feel a pleasant warmth in his abdomen, he does not think this is much of a game.  Twister is more fun.  “This is a boring game,” he says.  “Is it almost over?”

Dean chuckles.  “Sorry Cas.  We haven’t even started.” 

“Then we should start. Tell me what to do Dean.”

“Okay, sure, fine.  Let's try ‘would you rather’.  All you have to do is answer the question.  We’ll start off simple.  Would you rather be blind or deaf?”

Castiel is nonplussed.  “Neither one.  That is an absurd question.”

“I know.  That’s the point of the game.  Choose one.”

“I will not.  Why would you expect anyone to choose to be blind or deaf?”

“That’s not…” Dean snorts and wipes his mouth on his arm.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”  He gulps down a shot from the bottle then hands it to Castiel who dutifully swallows his three mouthfuls.  “Then how about this one Cas.  Would you rather be angel or human?”

Castiel is taken aback by the question, but at least it makes more sense than the last one.  Dean’s gaze fixes on Castiel’s face, shifts back and forth between the angel’s mouth and eyes. 

“You know, Ephraim asked me that same question before you got to Nora’s.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t answer him because I didn’t know the answer.  Being an angel is all I had known, but if given the choice, I wasn’t ready to give up on being human.  I was just starting to be able to talk to people, to interact from a different perspective than ever before, and even though I often misunderstood their gestures and meanings, I was learning.  But the panoply of emotions Dean, it is overwhelming.   The physical sensations alone are so different, so much…more.”  Castiel brings the bottle to his mouth, empties it and returns it to Dean.  “Can I think about the answer to that one for a while Dean?”

“Yeah, sure.  It’s just a game.”

“A game of truth though.”  Castiel states this as a reminder to Dean.  "When I answer it must be the truth."

“Right.  Speaking of physical sensations, sex was pretty great, huh?”  Dean jabs Castiel twice in the side with his elbow. 

Castiel used to wonder why Dean seemed so obsessed with sex.  When he was angry with Castiel, his barbs would often reference sex and when he was happy with him, he would also reference sex. Now he has a different view and he thinks he may better understand Dean's constant need to joke about it.

“It felt good, I suppose,” he says.  “My body felt good while it was happening.  But afterward, it wasn't what I was expecting, based on how I knew Jimmy felt about making love with Amelia.  So I tried again…”

Dean holds up his hand.  “Wait. Dude, you did it twice?  With April?”

Castiel sighs in frustration.  “That’s not the point, Dean.”

Dean bites his lip.  Castiel wishes he would not do that while he is talking about sex. “Sorry.  Continue.”

“As I was saying,” Castiel glances sideways at Dean.  “It was not what I had been expecting.   After intercourse, there was no longer a connection.  The joining was only physical, of body parts, not of spirit, not of souls, and once it was over, that was it.”

“You’re talking about love, Cas.  Jimmy and Amelia loved each other.  It was different for them.  That’s a whole different thing.”

“How so?” 

“I can't really explain it.  It just is.”

Castiel accepts Dean’s inability to explain. “When I found out I was deceived, I felt so horrible, like she had snuck inside me and taken something that was only mine to give.  So while I can remember the physical pleasure of the act, it's forever sullied by the intent behind it.”

Castiel looks over at his friend, but Dean will not look at him.  His chin is down and his hands are wrapped around the empty liquor bottle.  “Man, I’m sorry Cas.  I’m sorry that happened like that.  I’m sorry I’ve been making jokes about it.”

“I made light of it too.  I was dealing with it in the way I learned from you.  Sometimes humor works, sometimes it does not.  Besides, we weren’t doing ‘only truth’ then, were we.”

It is not a question and Castiel does not expect an answer, but Dean gives him one anyway.  “Well, the truth is that it is all my fault that happened to you.  If I hadn’t let the angel in Sam, if I looked for you right away…”

Castiel rolls his eyes, fed up with Dean’s guilt complex. “Are we playing a game of blame now?  Because I can play that game as well.  _I_ was the one who trusted Metatron, _I_ am to blame.”

“I gave you the cold shoulder.  I wouldn’t let you help us.  I pushed you into working with Metatron.”

“Because I nearly killed you, left you with no explanation, then lost the tablet.”

“I started the Apocalypse.”

Here we go again.  Castiel does not like where this game is headed and he knows how to end it.  “Well, that’s true,” he says, but he smiles softly and Dean looks amused.

“On that note, I think we need another one of these," Dean says.  "Be right back."

The warmth in Castiel’s gut is spreading outward to his limbs.  When Dean leaves the room Castiel stands.  His legs feel clumsy and he nearly loses his footing. The amount of alcohol he consumed should not be affecting him like this, but he doesn’t mind. His mind is racing and he feels good.  He removes his coat and jacket, folds them in half and drapes them over the back of a chair.

Dean returns with a bottle in each hand.  “This is all we’ve got left unless you mojo us some more,” he says.  “Not enough for a celestial sloshing but maybe you could feel a little something...”

Castiel holds up his hand to quiet Dean.  “It appears that the alcohol is already affecting my body,” he says, and he stumbles when he tries to sit back down.  Dean sets the bottles down, takes hold of Castiel’s arm and eases him to the floor.  “Thank you,” he says.  Dean takes his place at his side and opens one of the bottles. “I feel more than a little something, Dean.”  He catches Dean's eyes with his, hopes that Dean discerns his meaning. 

Castiel feels fingers drift across his hand, which is flattened on the floor beside him, holding him upright.  Dean meets his stare.  “Me too,” he says.

The touch is gone as abruptly as it came.  Castiel wants it back.  He wants to talk about it, he wants to tell Dean things he has never told him, about things he has done and things he wants to do, about things he thinks about, about things he feels, about things he needs. He wants to say so much more, but it is difficult to put the right words in the right order. He understands now what Dean meant when he said some truths were harder than others.

“You’re not full angel now are you?”  Dean asks.

“I don’t know,” Castiel replies honestly.  “I seem to have rudimentary angel powers.  I can fly.  I can mojo, as you say.  But I still have these emotions.  I still feel things as if I am…” He shakes his head.  “It could be because the grace inside me is not mine.  Or it could be that it takes time for the human memory to dissipate.  I really don’t know.”

Dean pats his shoulder.  “Well, then we are going to take advantage of this while we can.”

“How?”

He shoves the Jack bottle back into Castiel’s hand.  “Drink up, Lindsey Lohan.  We're going to try a new game.” Castiel sips from the bottle while Dean taps his hand on his own leg. “Ok, here it is,” he says.  “I'll say something, and if I am right you drink.”

“And if you're wrong?”

“Then I drink.”

“Is this a real game?  It sounds like something you just made up.”

“That’s ‘cause I did.  So are we playing or not?”

“We are,” Castiel agrees. 

Dean twists his mouth as if he is thinking.  “You broke from Naomi’s mind control because of me.”

Castiel looks at Dean and drinks.

Dean's lips turn up to one side with a familiar smugness.  “Ok, right.  Your turn," he says.

Castiel is ready.  “You need me to function as an angel in order to assist you in your hunting endeavors.”

Dean furrows his brows.  “That one is wrong.  In fact, it is so wrong that you have to drink twice.”

Pleased with Dean’s response, Castiel takes two long gulps without complaint. Dean is right about the whiskey; it does make this truth thing easier. “I want to go again,” he says.

Dean hesitates, wary, but concedes.  “Okay sure.  Why not.”

“There is no one you will ever hold in the same esteem as your brother,” Castiel says and calmly pushes the bottle toward Dean.  “Here, take a drink, Dean.”

“Wait.  What are you trying to do, Cas?”  Dean shifts his body around so he is facing Castiel.  Dean is more than just uncomfortable with the new subject matter, he is clearly angry. Castiel is no longer struggling to put words together; they are simply falling from his mouth as if he has no control over them and he is glad of it.

“You will never let Sam go.  You will never allow him to live his own life.  Another drink for you.”  Castiel remains steady.  He points to the bottle that still sits on the floor between them.

Dean’s chest heaves and his eyes narrow.  “Stop it,” he warns.

Castiel is undeterred.  “It will never change because you will never let anyone else in.  You will never let anyone else love you.”

“Fuck you, Cas,” Dean spits out between clenched teeth. 

“Take a drink.”

“Fuck you.”

“Drink up, Dean.”

“Fuck you.”

“You have to drink…”

Suddenly Castiel is flat on his back and Dean is over him, straddling him.  Dean thrusts the whiskey bottle to Castiel’s mouth and pours the liquid over his tightly clamped lips.  “No _you_ drink Cas.  _You_ have to drink.  You’re wrong!  You’re wrong!  You drink.  You drink.” 

Castiel could end this with a thought.  He could fling Dean off of him or put him out with barely a touch, but he does not.  He lets the liquor roll down his cheeks and pool on the floor under his head.  He allows Dean to scream and yell at him until he drops the empty bottle and collapses from exhaustion.  Castiel stills beneath him.  Dean’s chest lies against his chest, his face presses into Castiel’s neck.  He has never been this close to Dean. The weight of Dean’s body on his feels nice and Castiel closes his eyes to concentrate on Dean’s erratic pulse and the breathy noises coming from his throat. It would be so easy to wrap his arms around him, but Castiel does not move.

Dean lifts his head. “Cas,” he says, barely above a whisper.  Castiel opens his eyes and Dean is there, he is right there, looking at him. He is so close that all Castiel would have to do is lift his head ever so slightly or raise his chin to align their mouths and finally do what he has wanted to do for longer than he can remember, what he has imagined doing so many times, but he is frozen in place.  He feels a persistent twinge between his legs where Dean's hip is settled and his warm skin flushes.  

Dean lowers his lips to meet Castiel’s and kisses him gently.  “The truth isn’t just about words,” he says and kisses him again.  This time Castiel is able to respond, and when they kiss yet again, Dean’s tongue brushes across Castiel’s lips and into his mouth while his hand moves down his chest, below his waist, below his hips.  Castiel stills again and when Dean lays his hand on his groin and cups him over his pants, he tenses.

“Let me,”  Dean says into Castiel’s mouth.

“Dean.”  Castiel has never wanted anything more in his very long life, but he wants it only for the right reasons. 

Dean looks down at him.  “You deserve this Cas.  You should have this. What you were expecting, what Jimmy and Amelia had.  I can give this to you. I can show you the difference.”

Castiel relaxes under Dean and takes a moment to let the gravity of what he has just said sink in before he responds.  “I take it you are Amelia in this scenario?” 

Dean laughs softly, and Castiel knows that he appreciates his levity.  “So it would seem.”  Dean slides his hand upward, his mouth reclaims Castiel’s while he unbuckles the belt, releases the button, and unzips the wool gabardine pants in his way.  When his fingers slip beneath Castiel’s boxers and his hand wraps gently around his flesh, Castiel groans unexpectedly.

 “Is it good?”  Dean asks.

“It’s very good Dean,” Castiel says, then closes his eyes and allows himself to feel everything. 


	5. Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, Castiel and Dean each react differently to their newfound intimacy.

Castiel often dreams of water. He dreams of rivers, oceans, and pools of water.  Sometimes he is in the water, other times he is in a boat on top of the water, but most times he is watching the water from the shore or a bridge or a building or the sky.  The water is usually tempestuous, churning and angry, but in a few more recent dreams it was placid and soothing, like the water of Dean’s fishing dream.  The water in this dream cascades rapidly over a rocky ledge a short distance away.  Dean is there too, walking ahead of him, towards the waterfall.  Dean looks back at him and smiles, waves at him to join him. “We’re going in,” he says.  Castiel returns the smile and reaches for his hand.

Castiel wakes.  His disappointment that the dream has been interrupted wanes when he sees Dean across the room, tugging a pair of boxer briefs up over his hips. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”  Dean grins at him and steps into his denim jeans.

“I slept,” Castiel observes out loud, somewhat awed.  He is still drowsy but he pushes himself up and leans back against the headboard of Dean’s bed.

“Yeah you did.  Slept like a baby,” Dean says.  He pulls a shirt out of his dresser drawer.  “And you’re welcome.”

“Babies do not sleep Dean.”  Castiel recalls his one and only childcare experience with Nora’s infant daughter.  “And neither should I,” he adds.

He shouldn’t dream, either, but he no longer minds dreaming.  When the dreams first came, they were always disturbing and they woke him with a start. It made him avoid sleep, fight against it even though his body needed it.  Several weeks into his humanity he began to experience different dreams; dreams about pleasant things; dreams in which he was happy; dreams about Dean.  He knew that Dean was not actually entering his unconscious state as he had been able to do as an angel, but he began to look forward to those dreams just the same.  Many days he counted the hours, the minutes until he could close his eyes and spend time with Dean because Dream Dean always wanted to be with Castiel.

Dean comes to the bed and sits on the edge beside him.  He tugs at the soft, worn out quilt draped over Castiel’s legs and hips. Castiel remembers that the real Dean wants him too and it fills him with joy.

“Dean, no.”  Castiel’s protest is less than half-hearted.  “I am unclothed under here.”

“I know,” Dean nods.  He sighs then pats Castiel’s leg.  “But we probably should get an early start.  Seriously, though, why are you sleeping?  Is it that grace?  Because it’s borrowed?  Or am I just that good?”

Borrowed?  Castiel knows he should correct Dean, tell him that his renewed energy source was stolen, taken by violence and not on loan.  He will tell him the entire story, the awful truth of it, when they have more time, when he can explain it properly.  Right now there are more pressing matters to tend to.  They must take care of the prophet’s remains and, more importantly, find a way to get Sam back. 

“You are just that good,” Castiel says, and means it.

“Yeah, well, last night?  Tip of the iceberg my friend.” He drops his hand on top of Castiel’s so casually that Castiel is certain the touch is accidental until Dean lightly squeezes. “Do you need food?  Are you hungry?”

“No, I do not feel hunger,” he says.  “But I do enjoy coffee.  I developed a taste for it before I was human, when I had the tablet.  Biggerson’s coffee.”

“Huh.” Dean stands, fully dressed. “Well, then, coffee it is. I’ll get a pot going and meet you in the library. We’ll figure out our next step.”

Castiel nods his concurrence as Dean leaves the room.  He knows that the next step Dean is referring to is getting Sam back, but Castiel must also determine the next step in the new intimacy between him and Dean. Dean admitted he loved him, he all but said the words, and Castiel feels the same. He craves Dean’s words, Dean’s touch, Dean’s mouth, and this barrage of emotions are physically manifesting in some peculiar and puzzling ways that he would very much like to sort through with his friend. 

But that will have to wait.  He must help Dean fix what he has done to Sam; find a way to undo whatever can be undone.  Dean needs him. In the past, Castiel did not realize what Dean meant when he said those words to him, but now Castiel has felt human longing and desire and everything is changed.  All that has been between them he sees in a different light.  His recalled memories have revised meaning.  For the first time, he recognizes that he needs Dean too, not only as an ally or a friend, but in the same way that Dean needs him.  Castiel has waited years for Dean Winchester without even knowing what he was waiting for; he can wait until after they save Sam.

He surveys the landscape of Dean’s personal space.  It suits Dean well, and he is pleased that his friend has a place to call his own.  His eyes lock on the familiar weapon displayed on the wall.  Dean’s purgatory blade.  It reminds him of the first time Dean told him he needed him.  The first time Castiel knew for certain that Dean had forgiven him, that what Castiel had destroyed by working with Crowley had truly been mended.  If he could do it over, he would answer Dean’s prayers this time, keep him safe by his side rather than from afar.  If he could do it over now, he would leave purgatory with Dean. 

He doesn’t need to take a shower, but he wants to.  The pure pleasure of the simple act of cleansing was an unexpected perk to becoming human, and he sees no reason why he should not continue to indulge, particularly here in the bunker where the water pressure is superb.

 

Dean is not in the library.  Castiel calls out his name and hears a loud bang from the kitchen, followed by the sound of breaking glass.  He is there in a moment and finds Dean standing in the middle of the room facing a wall stained with dripping coffee, the glass pot shattered on the ground below it.  The coffee maker lies at his feet, the electrical cord torn from the outlet.  Dean holds his hand over his mouth, lowers his head and says nothing.  Castiel is less than two feet away from Dean, facing him, yet Dean does not acknowledge his presence.  Although Castiel is relieved to find that Dean is alone and safe, Dean’s grim demeanor is even more concerning.

“What is it Dean?”  Castiel reaches out to him.  The act is instinctive, and Castiel is not sure what his arm intends to do, he only knows that he wants to touch Dean, comfort him.  His fingers graze Dean’s cheek before resting on Dean’s collarbone.  Dean looks up at Castiel, his jaw tight, and pushes him away.  There is no real force behind it, but Castiel is caught by surprise and stumbles back.

“This can’t happen again Cas,” he says, waving his arm between the two of them.

Castiel understands grief better now than he has before, but this is not the natural progression.  Something happened after Dean left the bedroom. Castiel squints, drops his head to one side.  “What are you talking about Dean?”

Dean turns his head.  “Last night.  You and me.  It was wrong.”

“It wasn’t wrong Dean.  Not in the least.”  Castiel tries to catch Dean’s eyes with his, but Dean will not look at him. 

“It wasn’t?  Sam is gone.  Kevin is dead.  Because of me.  Because of _me._   And what do I do?  Screw an angel.”

Castiel winces but quickly recovers his calm.  “Dean, your intentions with Sam were good.”

Dean shakes his head.  “So what?  That makes it all okay?”

Castiel knows all about good intentions.  “No Dean, but it matters." It was both Sam and Dean who once had to convince Castiel of that. "And there is nothing wrong in seeking comfort from someone who cares about you.  From someone you care about.”

“Well that’s just it, Cas.  I was drunk. I needed to take my mind off of the shit storm I made. That’s what I do.  That’s all it was.  Nothing more to it.  Just another mistake.  Status quo for Dean fucking Winchester.”

Castiel's eyes widen in disbelief, stunned by Dean's words.  “Is this the truth Dean?”  he asks softly. 

Dean turns away from him. “Yes,” he says.

Everything Castiel thought he understood has been thrown to the wayside.  He knows nothing about humanity and perhaps even less of Dean Winchester.  He trembles, and there is a pain in his chest that moves up to his throat and burns but he forces it back.  He closes his eyes and blinks away the wetness.  He has no time for this right now.  He was too late to help Kevin but he can still save Sam. “All right Dean,” he says.

Dean turns back around and finally faces him.  “What?” he says.  He looks confused and angry and full of sorrow.  He furrows his brow, moves his lips as if he is trying to say words that will not come out. 

“Now tell me what happened,” Castiel says with cool detachment.  Dean has rejected him, but his mission stands and will now get his full attention.  Perhaps it is better this way. 

“Kevin is gone.”

“I know.  The angel in Sam…”

“No.  I mean his body.  It’s gone.”

“That is not possible.”

Dean nods.  “No one can get in here.  It’s warded against everything but angels.  The angel in Sam must have blinked in and taken him while we were…”

Castiel shakes his head.  “No, Dean.  All angels were cast from heaven and lost their wings.  They cannot fly.  They cannot “blink” in and out as you say.  Was the angel able to do so when he was here?”

“Right,” Dean says. He rubs his hand over his mouth and jaw as he thinks.  “He never could while he was here. But I’m guessing that you can because your grace was gone and you were human before the shit hit the fan?” 

Castiel nods, although he knows that he was never human in the true sense of it.  Never has an angel had his grace taken from him in the way that Castiel's was. Never has an angel had his grace removed and continued within the same vessel, the same body that had become Castiel's alone after his first resurrection.  It is all very new to him.  "This is what I surmise, Dean."

“But it had to be an angel.”  Dean continues.  “No one else can get in here and out of here without our knowing.  Are you sure they all lost their wings?”

Castiel is struck with a sudden realization.  There is one angel who could have done this.  Only one.

“Metatron,” Castiel says and he departs the bunker as soon as the name is spoken. He must find Metatron and recover his grace.   He will then have the power to deliver Sam.  With his own grace, he will become a whole angel again, free himself from the now present lingering pieces of humanity, and he will never, ever have to feel again. 


	6. Sonnet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Metatron reveals to Castiel information about the spell used to cast the angels from heaven and makes him an offer.

Metatron claps slowly from where he stands by the wall scattered with books in the dilapidated, abandoned library.  “Bravo, Castiel.  I didn’t think you had it in you.” 

Castiel holds his blade in his fist by his side.  It took only two days to locate Metatron here on earth.  It was almost too easy, and he knows that Metatron was expecting him.  Still meticulously wrapped, Kevin Tran’s body lies on a table between them. 

“I wasn’t sure you would be able to come, with that purloined grace you’re getting around with.  Nothing like the real thing, is it?  Very clever move Castiel.  Very, ruthless.  All the angels are talking about it."

Castiel says nothing but watches Metatron’s every move. 

“But surely you were able to come the other night?”    

Castiel narrows his eyes.

Metatron reaches for the shelf behind him, pulls out a book and casually shuffles through the pages.  “I just popped in to grab the prophet here and lo and behold what did I find? Not exactly the story I would have written for you, a little too pornographic for my tastes, but I wasn’t surprised, not at all.  After I saved his life, Kevin Tran told me all about Dean Winchester’s curious attachment to you.  In fact, you can thank Kevin for getting this whole ball rolling.  The last ingredient of the spell was difficult. I’d been looking for years and in all the wrong places, apparently.  Until Kevin here gave it up.” 

“What do you mean?” Castiel says. “There is no lack of angel grace.  You killed Naomi but did not take her grace.”

“Oh Castiel, you still don’t get it?  Even after your rather torrid night with the Winchester?  You’re so clever and yet…not.  It had to be you, had to be your grace or believe me, I wouldn’t have taken it.  I had grown rather fond of you.  It was very difficult for me. “  Metatron closes the book in his hand and sighs heavily.  “All’s well that ends well, though.  I got heaven, and you got, well, I suppose you got a Winchester.”  He smiles and Castiel resists the urge to jump over the table and slice his throat.

Castiel glances around the room.  He is not as strong as he was two days ago when he was last at the bunker; he knows that this grace is fading and he must use what is left of it wisely.  He glares at Metatron but says nothing; instead he waits for an opportunity. 

“Too proud to ask why?  Okay, you twisted my arm, I’ll tell you.  I needed the grace of an angel that was loved by a human.  And I mean 'How do I love thee let me count the ways', sanctioned by heaven love.  So you can see why I had believed it to be impossible…” 

“Why did you steal the body of the prophet.”  Castiel interrupts him.  

“Ahh, the prophet.  Well, I couldn’t let anything happen to his body.  Not just yet.  Not until I get heaven in order. Don’t get me wrong, it’s boring these days and I could use a little company, but he may be a bit cross with me at first, and we are not quite ready for a new angel.”

“New angel?”  

“Why, yes.  Kevin is a true prophet.  He will become an angel, as soon as his remains become one with this earth.  I know, I know, I should have thought of that before I had Gadreel smite him…” 

“The angel Gadreel? The failed protector of The Garden." 

“Now he's nothing more than the angel in the other Winchester.  Oops, I think that was supposed to be a secret."  Metatron shrugs.  "Oh well.  It's just us.  Anyway, he has been helping me, well, fix things.  He was the one who warned me about Kevin.  Kevin was getting too close with his tablet translations, and although I do intend to re-inhabit heaven, I plan to do that on my terms.  New and improved.” 

“Re-inhabit heaven?  You plan to bring the angels back?”

“Not exactly.  Not _all_ of the angels.  In fact, probably not many of them at this rate.  Have you seen how they have been behaving?”  Metatron shakes his head with disgust.  “It’s shameful.  But you can help me, Castiel.  You can be one of the first angels of new heaven, heaven two-point-oh if you will.  You know, your grace isn’t all gone.  I only used a drop for the spell.” 

It takes much effort for Castiel to not react to this news.  If Metatron is telling the truth, there is hope that he can become the angel he was. For now, he must remember what he came for.  “Where is Sam?”

“You mean Gadreel?  Out and about. Not as handy of a helper as I thought he would be, what with being clipped and so opposed to murder.”  Metatron rolls his eyes.  “Your Winchester seemed to like him, though.  They were best of friends, up until, you know, he killed Kevin.  But he’s not a warrior like you Castiel. You and I, we could finish what we started.  The heavenly do-over. Join me, Castiel.  Help me complete our task. And I promise, no harm will come to your Winchester as long as we are allies.” 

Castiel steps closer to the table.  “Then perhaps we should talk.” 

Metatron looks surprised at first but then grins and nods. Castiel concentrates on the wall behind Metatron.  The rickety racks start to shake violently and the books fly off of the shelves in their direction.  While Metatron turns to see what is happening, Castiel throws his body over that of the dead prophet and disappears. 

 

Dean is sitting in the bunker library when Castiel appears with the body of Kevin Tran in his arms. 

“Dean,” he yells.  “Come now!”

Dean jumps up from his chair, wide-eyed and silent.

“Now, Dean,” Castiel growls, then stumbles forward and nearly drops the prophet.  Dean scrambles over to him and grabs hold of Castiel’s arms, securing Kevin’s body.

“Cas, you okay?”  he asks.  His eyes dart over Castiel’s body.

“We must go now,” Castiel says.  “You are no longer safe here.”

“What? Why?  What’s going on Cas?  Where have you been?”

“Dean,” Castiel pleads to his friend to trust him.

“Yeah, okay, yes,” Dean says and within an instant they are  gone from the bunker.

 

Castiel lies on the floor beside Kevin’s body.  Dean looks around the familiar living room of Rufus's cabin in Montana, then falls to his knees beside Castiel.  “Cas, you okay?”  He runs his hand over Castiel’s chest while his eyes search the rest of his body for wounds.

“Dean, your knife.”  Castiel chokes out the words, chest heaving. 

Dean pulls the demon knife from his boot and hands it to Castiel.  When Castiel puts the blade to his forearm, Dean grabs his hand and stops him.  “Banishing sigil?” he asks, and Castiel nods.

“Cas, you’re too weak.  I got this.” 

Castiel watches Dean draw his own blood and hastily finger paint the sigil on the floor beside them.  When Dean is done, Castiel feels an arm slide under his knees and another around his back.  Dean picks him up, carries him across the room and gently places him on the couch. 

Castiel is exhausted but fights to stay awake.  His body is frail and unsteady from the torrent of energy just spent and it needs rest.   Dean sits beside the sofa on the floor, the concern on his face apparent.  Castiel closes his eyes, and hears Dean whisper a prayer.  “Be okay Cas. You’ve gotta be okay. I'm so sorry I lied. Tell me what to do and I'll do it, I promise.  Angel or human or half-whatever, it doesn't matter.  In the end, it's just us.  Just me and you.  I think we need each other.  So you have to...be okay.”

 _An angel loved by a human. The grace of an angel loved by a human.  His grace._   Castiel’s thoughts fade along with Dean’s words as he loses his struggle and slips out of consciousness.

 


	7. Detente

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Rufus's cabin, Castiel finds he is low on power. Castiel and Dean come to an unspoken understanding.

The first thing Castiel sees when he opens his eyes is Dean’s stocking feet. They are propped up on the edge of the worn, red leather sofa and nudged next to Castiel’s side, ankles crossed. Dean is sprawled on an armchair facing the couch, asleep, his arms folded across his body.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers loudly.

Dean reacts inhumanly fast; he is on his feet, demon knife held ready in his right hand, his left hand raised over an angel banishing sigil drawn on the kitchen table.

“Dean, no!” Castiel yells.

Dean recognizes they are safe and pulls his hand away within inches of contact with the sigil. “Damn it Cas! I nearly blew you to fucking Disney World.”

“I’m fine Dean.” Castiel notices the pillow beneath his head and the two blankets around his legs and torso. His shoes, overcoat, and jacket are gone, his shirt untucked.

Dean puts the knife on the table, goes to the coffee table next to the couch and sits, facing Castiel.

“How long have I been out?” Castiel winces as he tries to sit up. Dean leans over and helps him adjust so that his body is mostly upright, his legs still across the couch.

“About seventeen hours,” Dean says. “How’re you feeling?”

“I feel…hungry.” Castiel glances down and regards himself. “And thirsty.” 

“Don’t worry buddy, we keep it stocked up pretty good here. Should be plenty of food. There ain’t much you can’t get in a can these days.”

It is dark, the fireplace in the adjacent room provides the only light. Dean turns on the lamp by the couch then goes back to the kitchen. He rummages through the cabinets, pulls out a can, turns to Cas. “How about some beefaroni?”

“I’m not worried about food, Dean, it’s just that…” he pauses, looks up at Dean slowly. “I seem to be at a loss of power.”

“Completely?”

“No.” Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I can still feel it. The grace.”

“Then soup would probably be better,” Dean says. He exchanges the can in his hand for a different one and looks for a can-opener. “Soup fixes everything. Chicken and stars. Perfect.”

“I can’t fly,” Cas says humbly.

“I figured.” Dean opens the can and pours it into a pot on the stove. “That means the banishing sigils are out. Don’t want you ending up back in Australia with the angry dogs and no wings.” He fills a glass with water, brings it to Castiel, and sits back down on the coffee table. “I put up some wards, did I miss anything?”

Castiel looks around the room at the symbols spray painted on the walls, ceiling, and windows. “Good work Dean,” he says. "But I think we should do one more.”

“What’s that?”

Castiel unbuttons his shirt and pushes the left side open to reveal the tattoo he had inked on the side of his abdomen when he was human.

“Okay. This is what kept you hidden from the angels?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“So does it still keep you hidden?” Dean leans toward Castiel. His finger grazes the length of the tattoo and Castiel’s muscle twitches. Castiel shifts his body to a more upright position and pulls his shirt back over his skin. He can not let Dean touch him because all he wants is for Dean to touch him.

“No Dean, they only work for humans. Grace is a beacon. These runes no longer work for me but they will work for you, much like the carvings on your ribs did before they were healed.”

Dean jumps up, goes back to the kitchen and pours the soup into a bowl. “Nah. Don’t want one,” he says.

“Why not?” Castiel demands.

“Just don’t.” Dean hands Castiel the bowl and a spoon. “Eat your soup, Cas.”

“Where is Kevin?”

“Downstairs. I covered him with wards too just in case.”

Castiel nods. “Good.”

“Why is he not…I mean, he doesn’t seem to be…it’s been days since…”

“Decomposing? Prophet of the Lord, Dean. His body shall remain as it was on earth until it becomes one with the earth.” Castiel decides against using the spoon and puts the bowl to his mouth. “This is good Dean. Thank you.”

“We should do that, Cas. Burn Kevin’s body. As soon as possible. There’s plenty of wood outside. We can…”

“I do not think that would be wise,” Castiel interrupts. “Metatron told me that Kevin will become an angel when he is burned. That is why he took his body.”

“So Heaven isn’t shut down?”

“No Dean,” Castiel explains. “Closing Heaven was what I sought to do but failed. The spell was a one-time event. The angels were cast from Heaven, and the only reason they can not return is because they are without wings. They can not traverse through the strata. They are flightless, and there is no way for them to get back there from here.”

Dean creases his forehead, thinking. “So technically, if you were all fired up, you could get into Heaven.”

Castiel nods. “Technically.”

“So we should burn Kevin asap. He’ll become an angel and maybe help juice you back up and then…” Dean stops, grabs his head with both hands. “Jesus just listen to me. The kid wanted nothing to do with this. He just wanted to go home but I wouldn’t let him. Then I get him killed and I am still trying to drag him back into this. What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Dean, Kevin was chosen to be a prophet. You and Sam protected him for a long while, saved him many times…”

“Until I got him killed. C’mon Cas, are we just blaming everything on destiny now? Are we forgetting about free will because I am pretty sure I made the decisions that got Kevin killed. It’s on me. No one else.”

“Some things are fated, Dean. Some things are ordained. Kevin was a prophet, and with that comes certain duties. No choice made by you would ever change that.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean clasps his hands together and drops his chin. Castiel waits quietly for Dean to speak again. “So, do we let Kevin become an angel? What’s our next move, Cas?”

Castiel knows that it will take time for Dean to work through his guilt over Kevin’s death. He is pleased that Dean is referring to him and Dean as a team, including Castiel in decision making instead of simply barking out orders as he usually does when he is in hunter mode.

“I worry that Kevin would be in danger if he were to enter Heaven alone right now,” Castiel says. “Another angel must be there to greet him, to help him get his footing, to keep him safe from Metatron until he is fully incorporated by his grace.”

“Well that’s just great. Metatron could be waiting for him and ambush him.” Dean rubs his eye with the palm of his hand. “And all the feathered dicks are down here, wingless…” He looks at Cas, eyes wide in realization.

Castiel nods. “I have to go to Heaven.”

Dean slaps his hands on his knees, then stands. Castiel sips the remainder of his now lukewarm soup straight from the bowl as he watches Dean go into the kitchen and search through the cabinets and drawers. He knows what Dean is looking for and it makes him sad and somewhat bitter.

“Aha! Bingo!” Dean spins around with a smile on his face and a bottle of whiskey in his hand. “Care to have a drink with me?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No. I do not.”

“Aww, c’mon Cas. You gonna make me drink alone?”

“I would not presume that I could make you do anything, Dean.” Castiel looks away from Dean and places the empty soup bowl on the table beside him.  “Nor would I want to.”

Dean looks at the bottle and sighs, reluctantly places it on the kitchen table. He returns to his seat on the coffee table facing Castiel. “You don’t want me to drink,” he says.

Castiel glances around the room before he speaks. “When you are intoxicated, you say things-you do things- that you don’t mean. It’s disconcerting.”

“Disconcerting?” Dean drops his chin, purses his lips. “No, Cas, that’s not right.”

“There is no better way to describe it Dean. I am certain I have chosen the most appropriate term.”

Dean shakes his head. “No, Cas. What I’m saying is that when I’m drunk, that’s when I, that’s when I’m,” Dean hesitates. “That’s when I’m the most honest.  Especially with myself.”

“I don't believe that you are ever entirely honest with yourself, alcohol or not. If you were, then you would know that you are a better man than you think, Dean. You are a good man, a remarkable man. You always have been.”

Dean looks at Castiel and Castiel thinks he sees what he felt from Dean several nights ago; admiration, gratitude, affection.

“I don’t want the tattoo, for the same reason I never warded the bunker or the houseboat or anywhere I ever was. I want you to always be able to find me.”

Castiel wants to reach out to Dean and take his hand, but the knowledge that Dean at one time loved him enough to complete Metatron’s spell does not vitiate what happened at the bunker the morning he left Dean. He will never reveal to Dean what Metatron told him about his grace. He is certain that Dean would use that information to take on the blame for the fall of the angels and cement his guilt over Sam and Kevin.

“I can’t sleep,” he says slowly, as if a confession. “The last time I really slept was when you and I…” Dean closes his eyes. “I am so sorry, Cas.”

“For what?”

Dean shrugs. “For everything. For kicking you out of the bunker. For making you leave after we…making you think that I…”  Dean exhales loudly.  "I don't deserve...I shouldn't be, I shouldn't be allowed to feel..."

Dean stops, unable to say all of the words but Castiel understands. He does not need to hear them to know them.  "You are allowed, Dean.  Of that I am sure."  Although Dean finds it hardest to forgive himself, Castiel knows that he will always forgive Dean. The only thing Dean need ever do is ask.  Castiel slides down onto the couch, lays his head back on the pillow, preparing for rest.  “We will make it right, Dean.  Together.  But you must get some sleep.”

“Yeah. I mean, all we have to do is get you back in the air, find Sam and ditch his unholy hitchhiker, end Metatron, and make Heaven a place good enough for AP student and first class prophet of the Lord Kevin Tran. Easy Peasy, right?”

“Easy Peasy,” Castiel repeats, although he has no idea what the word peasy means.

Dean does not move, and Castiel is confused. “There are beds in the other room.”

“I know,” Dean says, then nods towards the sofa. “Can I?”

Castiel considers Dean’s request for less than a moment before he agrees by twisting onto his side and back into the cushions to make room. Dean slides next to him, mirroring him, and pulls the blankets over both of them. Castiel’s arm slides under Dean and their legs fold at the knees and interlock as there is no other place for them. Dean drops his hand onto Castiel’s neck, runs his fingers up through his hair and pulls Castiel’s forehead to his. “Thanks Cas,” he says, then tucks his head into Castiel’s neck while his arm moves down to Castiel’s chest, slips under Castiel’s unbuttoned shirt and rests on the curve of Castiel’s waist.

Castiel smiles. He enjoys the feel of Dean’s breath on his neck, Dean’s hand on his bare skin, Dean’s legs entwined with his. He lays his free hand on Dean’s hip, hooks one finger in the belt loop of Dean’s jeans. “You’re welcome, Dean,” he says, though wonders if he should be thanking Dean rather than the other way around. As wonderful as this feels, as much as he wants to kiss Dean, to touch him everywhere, Castiel knows that what is important right now is that Dean sleeps. And he does.


	8. Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel discovers that Dean holds an important talisman and begins to feel side effects from the foreign grace.

Dean Winchester is breathtaking, even unshaven.  A growth of fine, chestnut hair, darker over his upper lip, blankets his cheeks, chin and neck, obscures the sharpness of his jaw line. Castiel knows that Dean would scowl at being described in such a way, but when Dean’s eyes, his nose, and his slightly parted lips are inches from his own, Castiel can think of no other word. 

“Mornin’ Cas.”  Dean remains facing Castiel, the pillow under their heads, their bodies still curled into each other.  He grins. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Castiel yawns.  Dean nods then also yawns, pulling his hand from Castiel’s side to rub his eyes fully open. 

There were times, when Castiel had his own grace, that the connection he felt to Dean was so strong he described it as “profound”.  It was not until he lost his grace that he realized it was something else.  It was not until the night of Kevin’s death that he was able to name just what that something else was. But now that he knows, now that he comprehends it, he has no knowledge of what he is permitted to do with it.    

“His name is Gadreel,” Castiel states. “The angel in Sam.  He was a sentry – _the_ sentry- whose job it was to protect The Garden.  He betrayed heaven, allowed Lucifer to enter. There is not much known about him.  He has been imprisoned since before I existed, before most angels existed.”

Dean rolls away from Castiel, throws his legs to the ground and sits up on the edge of the cushion.  “So he’s an evil son of a bitch from the get-go,” he says.  “That’s awesome.”

Castiel sits up too and leans his back against the rolled arm. 

“What I don’t get,” Dean says, “Is why he would save Charlie.  Why he would fix you, bring you back.”  He turns his head toward Castiel.  “You were dead Cas.  He did it without my even asking.”  He drops his chin and shrugs. “I guess he knew, because Sammy was in there, somewhere, I guess he knew how much I needed that.”

“He pretended to be your friend.  He had to get you to trust him, to believe he was helping you, helping Sam.  He tricked you.”

“Remember what you said the other night?  About Sam?”

Castiel lowers his eyes.  “I am sorry I said those things to you Dean.”

“No, Cas, I’m not – don’t apologize.  I’m glad you did.  It made me think.”

“And that was good?”

“Yeah, it was.  And I think you were right.  Mostly.  But you should know that, you’re up there.  With Sam.  And the esteem thing.  I hold you up there too.”

Castiel is touched. “Thank you Dean.” 

Dean pats Castiel on the leg and gets up.  “I’m going to take a shower,” he says and shuffles out of the room.  

 

“I’m going back to the bunker,” Castiel announces as he sits at the kitchen table and drinks coffee from a chipped mug. 

Dean towels off his hair and crosses the room.  “What?  Your tank full again?”

“If by that you mean is the grace functioning again, then the answer is two-fold.”

Dean grins slightly.  “Of course it is.”

Castiel ignores Dean’s remark and continues.  “Because this grace is not mine, I don’t believe it will ever replenish in the same manner as my congenital grace.  Since there has always remained in me a vestige of my intrinsic grace, there has been some rejuvenation of the foreign grace, but it is difficult for me to accurately gauge the full extent of it.”

Dean blinks a few times.  “That was a lot of words, Cas.”

Castiel sighs.  “I have power but I don’t know how much or for how long.”

“But enough for a trip to the bunker?” 

“I believe so, yes.”

“And back?”

Castiel shifts in his seat and looks away. 

Dean shakes his head, drops the towel on the table.  “No. No one-way trips, Cas.”

Castiel stands.  He wants to go to Dean, touch him softly on the cheek, say “nice peach fuzz” and then promise him he will never be left alone.  But he is not sure that he should touch Dean that way; he is not sure he can keep such a vow.  “We need your computer, Dean,” he says. “Can you track Sam’s phone?”

“Tried it already,” Dean says.  “He ditched it outside of the bunker.”

“We need the sigil spell that Kevin found so we can try to reach Sam once we locate him.  We need Kevin’s work, the translations thus far.”      

Dean takes a deep breath.  “Okay. Yeah. Anything else?” 

“I need to talk to Crowley.” 

“Crowley?”  Dean sounds skeptical.

“Yes.  He knows things that aren’t in books, Dean.  About spells.  About reversing spells.  If we can reverse Metatron’s spell, if the angels regain the gift of flight, then they will return to Heaven.”

“You think that if Heaven opens back up for business the Sharks and the Jets will just drop their shivs and that’d be the end of it?”

Castiel rolls his eyes.  “I have no idea what you just said, Dean, but I assure you that the angels do not want to be here. The war might continue but it would continue in Heaven.”

Dean nods.  “Okay then.”

“But we must recover Sam first, otherwise…” Castiel stops when he sees Dean’s face, the exhaustion in his eyes.  Dean slept well last night, despite the cramped space they shared.  Castiel was distracted, unable to sleep, so he watched Dean rest, careful to not move and wake him, ready to end any nightmare that should befall him.  Castiel knows that Dean’s weariness is not from lack of sleep.  It is the sum of a lifetime of loss, heartache, and remorse, and Castiel will do everything in his power and even more to protect Dean from further anguish. 

“Fine.  Let’s go.  But I am going with you.  We’ll get a car.  I’ll hike a few miles down the road and pick something up…”

“No Dean.  We don’t have time for that.”

“Then blink me in with you.  I know where everything is.  I need some clothes, Cas, I don’t have a built in Laundromat like you.  And I can pick up a few weapons.”  Dean turns toward the cabinets.  “Now where’s the damn oatmeal?”

“These are angels, Dean.  What weapons do you have that can be used against angels?  I will get you an angel blade as soon as I'm able.”

Dean shrugs.  “I don’t know.  There’s all sorts of stuff there that the Men of Letters have been collecting.  There’s this awesome sabre, sharp as shit, and this thing called Spear of Destiny, I like to call it God's toothpick, and this egg that…”

Castiel grabs Dean roughly by the shoulder and spins him around.  “What?  You have what?” 

“Whoa Cas, calm down there.  It’s just this little egg thing that opens up and…”

“Dean! You have the Holy Lance?”

“The what now?”

“The Holy Lance.  The Spear of Destiny.   Do you have any idea what that is?  Do you have any idea of it’s power?”

“I’m gonna go with no, Cas.  Is it important?”

“Important?  If it gets into the wrong hands…Metatron could find it and potentially…” Castiel closes his eyes and inhales sharply.  The tendons of his neck tighten and protrude, the anger setting in makes his body tense.  He clenches his fists, and the ceramic cup in his hand explodes into pieces as the lights flash and the bulbs over head and across the room sizzle and shatter.  

“Cas!”  Dean catches Castiel’s bloody hand and holds it.  He grabs the towel from the table and presses it into Castiel’s palm to stop the bleeding.

Castiel watches Dean tend to his injury.  Dean gently and methodically picks out sharp, broken pieces of clay from the wound and it calms Castiel.

“What the hell, Cas?”  Dean says after several minutes.  Castiel sees no anger, only concern in Dean's eyes.

“Dean.”  Castiel speaks quietly.  “If what is said about the Lance is true, he could command the fate of this world with it.”

“Okay then.”  Dean remains composed.  “We will go get it.  But Cas, what just happened, it’s like you just lost it, man.  What was that?  Is something wrong?  Got anything to do with that grace?”

Castiel shakes his head to assure Dean but he is worried.  He shocked himself with the outburst and his inability to control it.  Theo was not a righteous angel, and the stolen grace is likely tainted by Theo’s malevolence.  It has to go.  He has to get it out of him as soon as possible.  He just needs to get a few things done first.

“I’m going with you, Cas, and that’s final. We’re doing this together, remember?”

Castiel does not object this time. He looks down at his open hand in Dean’s and nods.  “Thank you, Dean,” he says. 


	9. Relic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean return to the bunker, make a deal with Crowley, and find some comfort together.

“Seriously?”

Castiel pushes Dean’s hand away and sighs.  “Yes, Dean.  Seriously.  Now that you are aware of the power of the Spear, I can’t let you possess it.”

“You can’t?   And why is that again?”

Castiel closes the box containing the relic and carefully places it in Dean's duffel bag, which is already packed with clothing and other sundries.  “Historically, those who have knowingly possessed the Holy Lance have met with an untimely demise soon after it left their possession.  It is said that Hitler had the Lance and lost it just before his death.”

“Damn Nazis.  So you’re saying what we’ve got here is some real life Indiana Jones shit?”

Castiel stares at Dean.  “Should I be able to answer that question Dean?  Because I can not.”

“It would be fucking awesome if you could Cas, but no. It just means that I have failed you as a human.”

Castiel zips the bag closed.  “We were only together a few hours in total while I was human.  The longest at one time was after Nora’s house when we went back to your motel room, and we spent those hours dressing my wound and sleeping.”

Dean sucks in his lower lip.  “Yeah, well, I didn’t sleep.  Not a wink.”

“You didn’t?”

"No. Having you in the next bed, it made me want to…” Dean lowers his eyes. “It was hard, knowing you wanted me to ask you to come back home.  Knowing that I wouldn’t.”

“Well, I actually slept well that night, Dean.  I was very comfortable.  I had been sleeping in a blanket bag on the floor of the stock room at the Gas–n-Sip because I was unable to afford a place to live, so a mattress and a pillow were welcomed.”

“Cas,” Dean inhales sharply.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  I would have helped.  I would have…”

Castiel interrupts him. “That’s precisely why Dean.  I didn’t want your help.”

Castiel regrets his words when he sees the hurt on Dean's face. “Dean, even before I was human asking for help was difficult.  I have always been too full of pride, but it was escalated by my human condition. I am sorry but I must admit that after you asked me to leave the bunker, asking anything of you, speaking to you at all felt like an impossibility. It was hard for me to call to advise you of the deaths in Rexford. But in the end, I was glad that I did.  I was glad that you disregarded my wishes and located me.”

Dean half-grins.  “I get it, Cas.  I'm glad that I found you too.”  Dean picks up the duffel bag, changes the subject.  “Okay, so possessing the Spear sounds bad.  But it’s been here in my room.  I took it out of the box.  I’ve held it.  Looks like I’ve been possessing it for months now.”

“Not knowingly, Dean.  You had no idea of it’s potential.  And now, we will simply transport it and not possess it.  Until we can find a safe place for it, we will keep it out of the wrong hands.  We will guard it, but not own it.  Agreed?”

Dean nods. “Agreed.”

 

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of this rendezvous?”

The dungeon is dark but clean.  Castiel had heard Sam and Dean mention their dungeon, but was unsure what to expect.  As far as dungeons go, and Castiel has seen plenty, this one is nice. 

Dean steps toward Crowley.  “We need your help.”

“Ahh, I see.  I have been abandoned here for days with nary a word and you simply expect I will…“

“Forget it,” Dean growls and turns his back to Crowley.  “C’mon Cas.”

Crowley sighs loudly.  “With what, pray tell?”

“A spell.”  Dean drops Kevin’s cuneiform pages on the table in front of Crowley.  “Sam said you can read this stuff.”

“Oh, _that_ spell.”  Crowley glances at Castiel with a smirk. 

“Wipe that smug look off of your face before I do it for you.” Something in Dean’s glare temporarily silences Crowley.

Crowley looks down at the pages before him, then up at Castiel.  “Awfully quiet there, Angel.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow.  “How do we reverse the spell?” 

“What’s in it for me?”

“Not death,” Dean says.

“Really Dean?  You’ve got to do better than that.  Between you and your brother, I’ve already been not deathed to death.  I must insist on something a little fresher.”

“Shove it up your ass, dickbag.”

“Yes, that’s much fresher. I see your vocabulary is as impressive as ever.”

Crowley’s derision infuriates Castiel. His jaw clenches, his hands contract into tight fists.  Within a matter of seconds the angel blade slides into his right hand and he lunges onto the table between himself and Crowley, sword raised and ready to plunge. 

“Cas, no!”  Dean pushes Castiel away as the blade comes down forcefully, the tip embedding into the surface of the table.  Wide-eyed and stunned, Crowley leans back in his chair as far as he possibly can.

Castiel’s chest continues to heave. Dean catches his eye, holds onto his arm, and he knows that Dean is asking him to stay in control, to complete their mission, to let him do what he has to do. 

He turns away from Dean, pulls his sword from the table and steps back.  Dean picks up the papers that had flown off the table.

“What’s up with Raging Bull over there? A steroid overdose, perhaps?”

“He doesn’t like dicks.”

Crowley smirks.  “Please.  It’s no fun when you make it so easy for me Squirrel.”

Dean rolls his eyes, before he settles them back on Crowley.  “Do you know how to reverse spells or not?”

“Depends on the spell.”

“ _This_ spell.”  Dean points to the symbols on Kevin’s translations.  "Quit the games, Crowley.  You know what spell we are talking about."

“Then I will assume you are referring to heart of a nephilim, bow of a cupid, grace of a certain angel?  That spell?"

Dean looks at Castiel, questioning, then back to Crowley.  “What do you mean by ‘certain angel’?”

Crowley appraises Castiel while Castiel glares back at him.  “Well it can’t have been you,” he says to Castiel.  “You have your grace.  You’re an angel.” 

“What certain angel?”  Dean asks again, his voice low and gruff. 

Crowley faces Dean.  “Because you asked so nicely, Squirrel, this spell requires the grace of an angel that is loved by a human.”

Dean quickly glances sideways towards Castiel but does not face him.  “What do you mean ‘loved by a human’?”

“I mean love, love.  Cupid love.  ‘Let’s get physical’ love.  That sort of thing.”

Castiel can see it happening; can see Dean thinking, slotting it together, taking responsibility for the casting of all the angels from heaven, blaming himself for all of Castiel’s mistakes.  “No Dean,” he says.

“But it wasn’t you.”  Crowley says to Castiel, confused.  “Clearly you have grace.  If it were you, you’d be human.  Moose said…”

“What did Sam tell you?”  Dean growls.

“Moose, the angel in Moose, I’m not sure which one…”

“What?”  Dean moves toward Crowley but Castiel takes hold of his arm and pulls him back. 

“I can smell an angel when I see one,” Crowley sneers.  “All that cleanliness and godliness and such.”

“What did he tell you?”  Castiel demands. 

“Just what happened to the angels.  That you were looking for a way to reverse it.  He showed me the spell.  I smelled the angel in him, so I told him it couldn't be reversed.  I hated lying to young Kevin, he looked so disappointed and the dear boy has always been my favorite, but there was something off about that angel in Sam.”

Castiel knows Crowley better than most.  He is unpredictable and untrustworthy, but Crowley sounds as sincere as he ever has, and Castiel believes him. 

“Now that the cat is out of the bag,” Crowley continues, “please tell Kevin I am sorry I lied.  His little face was…”

“Kevin is dead.”  Castiel says it so that Dean does not have to.

Crowley looks surprised.  “Oh.  I’m sorry to hear that.”

The room falls silent for several moments. Dean is the first to speak.

“All right then.  So let’s make a deal.”

 

Castiel opens the box and examines the Lance without touching it.  The Spear that pierced the side of Christ as he died on the cross.  The Spear that has been blessed with the blood of the Son of God, yet possessed throughout the years by humans of dubious and downright wicked means and intent. 

He glances in the direction of the garage where Dean is finding them some transportation.  He runs his fingers over the Spear, admires the simplicity of it, the sheer beauty of it.  This is the genuine thing, he can feel it, and he wants to remove it from the box and hold it, wield it.  Unlike the others, he would use it for only good.  He would defeat Metatron, return the angels to heaven, close the gates of hell and rid the earth of demons and all that is evil.  The fact that Dean would never have to hunt again, that he would be safe, is nothing more than a bonus.  Surely this is what was intended, that the power of the Lance be used for such noble purposes. Castiel feels a whirring inside him, his grace pulsates, responding to the relic.  His body tingles, his nerve endings ignite and burn. There is no one else who can do this but him.  His wrongs would all be righted, his atonement achieved, his redemption complete.

“What are you doing?”

The sound of Dean’s voice startles Castiel.  He drops the box.  “I was just admiring the Spear, Dean.”

Dean reaches down, picks up the box, closes it. “I don’t think we should mess with it at all, Cas.”  He tucks the box back into the duffel bag.  “I don’t believe in destiny, but I think we should play it safe with this one.”

Castiel nods. 

“Let’s go,” Dean throws the bag over his shoulder.  “I have an old Challenger I’d been working on in the garage.  Needs a paint job, but runs fine.  We’ll use her.”

The bunker is much more comfortable than a motel, but Metatron and Gadreel both know the bunker’s location and Castiel insists that they no longer stay there.  They leave Crowley in the dungeon with paper and pencil to work out the formula for reversing the spell per their agreement with the King of Hell. 

Castiel follows Dean to the garage and into the car, and they leave the bunker.  Dean drives and Castiel rides shotgun, but he continues to think about the Spear of Destiny, the Holy Lance, and all of its possibilities.

 

Castiel waits in the car while Dean pays for the room, but he listens to the motel clerk offer a room with a queen sized bed or two double beds. Dean takes the room with one bed, and when he comes outside he waves Castiel over.  

“They only had a single.  Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel says and follows Dean into the nothing-at-all-special room of the Bluebeard Motel.  Dean drops the bag down on the floor, sits on the bed and yawns.

“Long day, eh Cas?”  Dean reaches down and unties his boots, kicks them off.  He removes his jacket and tosses it on the chair in the far corner of the room.  “Take off your coat, buddy.  Get comfortable.”

Castiel complies, pulling his arms from his new trench coat and his suit jacket, then hanging both on the hook by the door.  He goes to the bed and sits beside Dean.  “Dean, I have been thinking.”

“Yeah?  About what?”  He pulls his socks off and tucks them in his boots.

“I think I have to leave.”

Dean’s eyes go wide. “What’s this about, Cas?”

“I never told you how I got this grace.  You never asked.”

Dean shrugged.  “I figured you’d tell me if you wanted me to know.”

“I want you to know,” Castiel says.  He wants to get it out, and he does not wait for a response before he continues. “I stole it Dean.  I sliced the throat of my torturer and consumed his grace.”  Castiel watches Dean’s face as he speaks, looking for signs of disgust, of disapproval, but he sees none.  “I recovered my angelic abilities and an angel and his vessel are dead.”

“You did what you had to do,” Dean says. “Fuck, he was torturing you?  What did he do to you?”

“What he did doesn’t matter.  It’s what _I_ did, how I did it…it was barbaric.  It was brutal…”

“Cas, you were being tortured…”

Castiel holds up his hand.  “That’s not all of it.  The grace I took, it was…Theo was not good, Dean.  His grace, it is corrupted, tainted by his malice.  And now that it is inside me…” Castiel looks away briefly.  “I can not be trusted Dean.  You are not safe around me.”

Dean pulls his head back, shaking it.  “No, Cas.  You don't get to do that again.  You don’t get to leave just because you can.”

“Dean, you don’t understand.”  Castiel’s voice cracks with desperation.  “I wanted the Spear.  I wanted to take it.  I wanted to use it.  I could feel the grace, urging me, pushing me to do it.  Even now I can't stop thinking about it.  It felt like evil, Dean.  And if there is evil inside me, if that’s true, then you are in danger.  From me.” He lowers his eyes, drops his chin.

“No, Cas.  Never.”  Dean cups Castiel's face along the line of his jaw. “You won’t hurt me.”  Dean tilts Castiel’s face upward and their eyes meet. “You won’t hurt me, Cas, unless you leave me now.  That’s the only way you will hurt me.”  

Castiel likes looking at Dean’s eyes, he always has, and so he does.  Dean’s eyes move forward, closer to his.  He wants to believe Dean, he wants to kiss Dean and he thinks that maybe he can, maybe he can believe him, maybe he can kiss him, so he closes the distance between them and presses his lips against Dean’s.  He waits to be pushed away, to be told he can’t or he shouldn’t, but it does not happen.  Instead he feels Dean pushing his way into his mouth, wrapping his hand around the back of his neck while his other hand fumbles with the buttons on Castiel’s shirt.  

Castiel responds in kind.  He slides Dean’s shirt up and runs his hands up Dean’s stomach and chest.  Dean forces Castiel down onto the bed, shoves Castiel’s shirt aside and climbs over him. 

Castiel pulls his mouth away from Dean’s.  He wants to have this, he wants to take comfort in Dean, to comfort Dean, if Dean will let him.  “Dean, are you sure?  Do you really want this?”

Dean kisses Castiel again.  He takes Castiel’s hand and places it between his legs.  Castiel feels Dean’s hardness against his palm.  “Yeah, I am sure, Cas.  Can you feel how sure I am?  Can you feel how much I want this?”  Dean guides Castiel’s hand up and down until Castiel catches on and strokes Dean eagerly over his denim jeans.  Dean’s hand moves to Castiel’s groin, rubs along the bulge there several times before he works on the belt, button, and zipper of Castiel's pants.

Dean slides down Castiel's body until his knees hit the floor between Castiel's legs.  He places kisses along Castiel’s stomach, tongues the Enochian tattoo, then around and below Castiel’s navel.  Castiel’s insides flutter while his outside quivers. “So much more for us, Cas,” Dean says, and looks up at Castiel. Castiel is not sure what he means but he does not want to ask.  All he wants at this moment is for Dean to not stop.  His hands find their way to Dean’s head, his fingers comb through Dean’s hair.  I love you Dean, he says, and although his lips move the words do not come out and he doesn’t know why he has lost his ability to speak. Dean's hand frees Castiel's length, draws it gently into his mouth, and all at once Castiel understands more than he ever has before.    


	10. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel make separate promises to one another. Crowley disappears from the dungeon.

Castiel sleeps and dreams again. He finds himself at Dean’s fishing pier. He sees Dean at the far end of the dock, lounging in a chair, fishing pole in one hand, beer in the other. Castiel walks slowly toward him. “Dean,” he says when he is finally next to him. Dean looks up at him lovingly. “Cas,” he says. “So much more for us. So much more.” Castiel feels warm and content. He smiles, a genuine, wide, open-mouthed smile because he knows now what Dean means by this. He squats down to level Dean’s face with his, but when he leans in to the man in the chair it is no longer Dean. It is Metatron, his face twisted into a wicked, mocking grin. “So much more for us,” Metatron says. “Where is Dean?” Castiel demands and Metatron laughs at him, loud and depraved guffaws. “This is war, Castiel. Your Winchester was in the way. I warned you about this. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.” “No,” Castiel begins to chant. “No, no, no, no, no, no…”

“Cas, wake up.” Someone is shaking him. Dean. Dean is here. Dean is beside him. Dean is in bed with him. Dean is safe. Castiel opens his eyes and sees him, his crinkled brow inches from his own. “Bad dream?” he asks. “You’ve been dreaming too?”

“Yes. Sleeping, dreaming, eating…” Castiel pauses, “…and I think I may have to urinate.”

“Huh.” Dean rolls onto his side, props himself up with his elbow. “So what-you’re half and half now?” he says. “An angel man or a human angel?”

Castiel shrugs. “It’s…perplexing.”

“Maybe you should lose that grace, or whatever it is that you’ve got now. If you think it’s affecting you like you said, we should get rid of it.”

Castiel breathes in deeply. “If I do, I will be useless. I will dispose of it as soon as we find Sam.”

“Jesus, Cas, you are never useless,” Dean groans. “I thought we covered that already.”

Castiel shifts onto his side, facing Dean. “Do you want me to be human Dean? Is that what you prefer?”

“I don’t have a say in that, Cas. It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Yes, it does. It matters very much.”

“Well it shouldn’t.”

Castiel squints at him, his face questioning further.

“I’m having trouble with this,” he says. “This…us.”

“Not again, Dean.” Castiel mumbles. He drops his head, closes his eyes. His stomach roils. “No. Don’t do this again.”

“No, Cas no. I’m not…no.” Castiel feels Dean’s hand on his cheek and he opens his eyes. Dean looks at him with tenderness that Castiel has always known Dean to be capable of. “I won’t do that to you again, Cas. That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

“You make me feel…worthy. And I’m not, I know I’m not, but you make me want to have things, things that I don’t…”

“Stop it.” Castiel is sure and firm. “You are more than worthy, of this and much more. So much more for us, is that right Dean? Did you mean that when you said it?”

Dean drops onto his back and looks up at Castiel. “Yeah. I did. I do.”

“Because it felt like a promise.”

“It was. It is. A promise. I promise, Cas.” Dean smiles lazily. “A promise from me probably doesn’t mean much to you these days, or to anyone for that matter. But I mean it. It took me a long time to figure it out – no that’s not exactly true- I knew a while ago, before purgatory. It just took me a long time to admit it, that this is what I want. And now that I have, I don’t care one bit that you’re not a chick. It doesn’t even matter that you’re a dude.”

“I’m not a dude, I’m an angel. So actually I am neither chick nor dude.”

“Yeah. Well you’re an angel with a dude suit. Which, now that we’ve tried this out a couple of times, I’m pretty damn okay with.”

“Would it have been better for you if I had taken a female vessel?” Castiel asks.

Dean drops his chin, shakes his head. “Nah. I would have fucked this up a long time ago if you were a woman. I think it took time for me for a reason. But now that I’m here, I’m here. I’m all here, and it’s good and I want to keep it. That’s okay, right? Is that okay Cas?”

Castiel leans into Dean and rests his head on his chest because he wants to and he has no doubts now that he can. “Yes. It’s very okay” he says. He feels Dean’s fingers tangle loosely in his hair, playing with it. “And your promise - to me, it means much, Dean. To me, it means everything.”

 

Dean carries the Spear in the duffel bag strapped over his shoulder. They drive to the bunker so Castiel can preserve the grace. Dean inserts a Moody Blues tape into the cassette player and Castiel’s fingers tap against his thigh in time to the music. Dean says “I knew you’d like them,” and Castiel says “I do,” and they quietly enjoy the music together without the need for any more words.

 

Castiel senses it just as they get to the dungeon and he reaches for Dean to stop him from opening the door but it is too late.

Crowley is gone, and in his place sits the angel wearing Sam, hands folded together on the table, the papers Crowley had been working on pushed to the side.

Castiel raises his blade as he leaps between Dean and the rogue angel.

“Put that away, Castiel,” Gadreel says much too calmly. “We all know you will not harm Sam Winchester.”

“Where’s Crowley,” Dean grumbles.

“You made a deal with him,” Gadreel states. “I made a better one.” He holds up a crumpled piece of paper. “Looking for this?”

Dean moves next to Castiel. “Why are you here?”

“Unfinished business,” Gadreel says and slants his head toward Dean.

Castiel feels the now familiar rage rise slowly in his chest but this time it is tempered with panic and fear, fear for Dean. He needs the fury unrestrained to defeat Gadreel.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel says. “I will come back to you, always. I promise.” He lays two fingers on Dean’s forehead and sends him to Rufus’s cabin before Dean has time to protest.

Gadreel stands, his mouth dropped open in surprise. Castiel seeks out the ire of Theo’s grace within himself, unhampered now by immediate concern for Dean’s safety. He will need the strength of it to overpower Gadreel without killing Sam. And if that does not work, he is prepared to do whatever he has to do to keep Dean safe.

“You, you love him,” Gadreel says slowly.  His demeanor has changed. He is hesitant, uncertain, his face softened. He looks like Sam.

“I will not allow you to harm Dean,” Castiel growls. “Regardless of your vessel.”

“He has his suspicions, his own beliefs, about his brother’s love for you, but he did not know the full extent of it. He did not know it was requited.  He did not know it was consecrated.”

Gadreel looks around the room, as if thinking. Castiel sees that he is accessing Sam’s mind, his memories and thoughts, bringing Sam closer to the surface. Sam is strong, Sam is a fighter. If he can weaken Gadreel, compromise him, he may be able to reach Sam.

“Angels do not love in that way,” Gadreel says, awed. “But you do.  You are different."

“Ask Sam,” Castiel says and steps closer to him. “Ask him about my bond with Dean. He knows of it.”

Gadreel’s head drops to his chest for several moments. “A profound bond,” Gadreel says, and Castiel knows now that Sam is there, right there, so close. Within reach. “You would give your life for him. You _have_ given your life for him.”

When Gadreel looks up, his eyes are shiny, wet with unshed tears. “I too have loved in that way, Castiel. I too have defied our nature and allowed myself to feel deeply for another.”

“Sam,” Castiel says in a low voice. “You can expel him, Sam. Revoke all consent. Tell him to leave.”

“Abner!” Gadreel cries out. “What have I done Abner? What have I done?” Gadreel brings his hands to his face and sobs. “No, no. What have I done?”

Castiel grabs Gadreel by one shoulder and with his other hand carefully sinks the angel blade into his side. “Do it now!” he screams. "Now, Sam!"

Castiel can feel it as he holds onto Sam. Grace begins to flow from the wound at Sam's waist. His eyes flash blue light and his body shakes. His head is thrown back, his mouth open as the angel Gadreel’s grace and light – his being - leaves Sam’s body, spirals toward the ceiling and disappears through a vent.

Sam slumps into Castiel’s waiting arms. Castiel heals Sam's wound, grabs the wadded paper that Gadreel dropped on the table, and calls upon the remnants of Theo’s grace one more time.

 

Dean is pacing the room, one hand tugging at his own hair when Castiel arrives at the cabin with Sam.

“Cas?” he asks.

“It’s Sam,” Castiel says, out of breath and weak. Dean grabs one side of Sam, helps Castiel lay him across the couch. Sam moans and rolls onto his side.

“How did you…” Dean starts to ask but stops when Castiel closes his eyes and begins to sway. He picks Castiel up, carries him to a bed in the room with the fireplace, and gently lays him down.

Dean puts his hand on Castiel’s forehead, brushes the hair from his face. “Thank you, Cas. Again. You are pretty damn, amazing, you know that?”

Castiel tries to say something but he is too tired. He hands Dean the ball of paper he has clenched in his fist. Dean takes it from him, and carefully opens it, reads it, then grins at Castiel.

“This is it,” he says. He takes Castiel’s hand and entwines their fingers. “It’s what we need to get your dickbag brothers back into heaven.”


	11. Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean seeks Castiel's guidance regarding Sam. After learning what has occurred since he was possessed, Sam makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this before tonight's episode.

Of all human circumstances, Castiel believes he may like waking the most. Upon waking, Castiel has always felt relief. The few times he woke as an angel, during the apocalypse, when his ties to the Host were severed and his body involuntarily fell into sleep, he felt relief that there was another day to fight, another chance to win. As a human, he felt relief that the horrors of the night were only dreams and later, once the nightmares had waned, it was relief that he survived another day. Now when he wakes, there is still relief, but it is not the same. Now it is relief that Dean Winchester is by his side; relief that they have found their way to this place they have managed to carve out for themselves. And there is more now than just relief. Now there is happiness.

He is happy, and Castiel can not remember experiencing a feeling quite like this when he had his own grace. It overwhelms him, washes over him and envelopes him, makes him feel light, weightless, inviolable, and he knows that these last few days with Dean will change all his days to come, regardless of whether those days are lived as angel or human.

It surprises Castiel that such happiness can be found despite all that is happening around them; the felled angels, Metatron, Gadreel and Sam, young Kevin’s death. It surprises him that such a pleasant emotion can freely coexist and to some extent overcome the less pleasant ones. Without a doubt, these feelings are human in nature and he likes them.

Dean lies beside him, behind him, his body wrapped tightly around and into him as if they were two pieces of a puzzle that slid into place during the night. If he must sleep, Castiel hopes to wake up like this every day.

“Hey, are you awake?” Dean whispers into Castiel’s ear.

Castiel nods, turns around so that he is facing Dean.

“Sam’s still asleep.” Dean answers the question before it is asked. “I checked on him a little bit ago.”

“He will recover,” Castiel says, then corrects himself. “His body will recover.”

“Well that’s good, that’s great.” Dean plays with the buttons on Castiel’s shirt. “He’s gonna be pissed at me.”

“You and Sam have had disagreements before and you have always…”

“Are you kidding me right now, Cas?” Dean clutches the fabric in his hand. “This is not a disagreement. I let an angel possess him and that angel killed Kevin.”

“I know, Dean.” Castiel quiets and takes Dean’s hand in his. Nothing he can say will make this easier for Dean, nor should it, he believes.

“How do I do it, Cas?” Dean asks, calmed after a minute of silence.

“Do what Dean?”

Dean sighs. “Let him go. How do I let him go?”

Castiel twists his mouth. He knows Dean must do this for himself, yet a small part of him wishes he could fix this for Dean, for Sam. But even he is unsure of how far back he would have to go to unravel this mess, to pinpoint when it all began. To Sam’s liaison with the demon Ruby and his addiction to demon blood? To Dean pulling Sam away from a sound and safe future and into the business? To John Winchester’s sacrifice of Dean’s childhood for the greater good; to his misguided reinforcement of Dean’s worth based on the boy’s ability to hunt and care for his brother? Or perhaps with the family’s first of many demon deals, made between their mother Mary and Azazel, which sealed the fate of yet-to be-born Sam Winchester. Given this history, Castiel wonders how both of the Winchester sons emerged as the exceptional men they are. Castiel thinks that Bobby Singer may have had something to do with that.

“I really don’t know, Dean,” Castiel says honestly. “I think, maybe, you just do.”

Dean laughs nervously. “Yeah. Where do I start?”

“First, you tell him everything.”

“Sounds simple enough.” Dean’s response sounds flippant but he lowers his eyes for a moment before looking at Castiel again. “Okay. Then what?”

Castiel leans into Dean and kisses him softly on the lips. “And then you listen to him.”

 

It all begins very civilly. The three of them eat something from a can that looks somewhat like pasta but with an orange colored sauce. Castiel is pleased to see that Sam looks well, better than he had expected but he is not surprised as Sam is a vessel capable of bearing an archangel, and Gadreel is nothing of the sort.

“So, Cas, changed your mind about dumping us, huh?” It seems like an innocent question, but Sam’s tone is hollow, bitter.

Castiel does not know what to say. He shoves a fork full of food into his mouth and chews slowly. He tries not to look at Dean while he waits for Dean to say something, to respond to Sam, but he does not.

“I was worried about you. Dean too, though he would never admit it. A phone call would have been nice. You know, maybe if you had stuck around for once, just for once, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Castiel takes a deep breath. Although Sam knows now that he was possessed by an angel, it appears that Sam has no specific memory of when and how it occurred nor what happened during those times. Castiel realizes that Gadreel manipulated Sam’s memory not just once, as Dean had described to him, but every time Gadreel made an appearance, if not more.

Dean’s eyes are fixed on his own hands, folded on the table.

“Dean?” Castiel urges, but Dean remains silent.

“Maybe you were right Dean,” Sam continues. “Why do we always give him a pass? Anyone else you would have stabbed in the neck by now, right? If he doesn’t want to help us, doesn’t want to let us help him, then why bother coming back at all?” Sam glares at Castiel.

Dean remains motionless. Castiel tries to make eye contact with him but Dean will not look up. He lays a hand over Dean’s hands. “Dean,” he pleads. “Now is the time.”

“Sammy, listen…” Dean finally starts.

Sam pushes his brows together and pulls his head back. “Wait. What is this? Are you two?…did you actually…”

Dean pulls his hands away. “No, no Sam. It’s not like that.”

His human emotions are always accompanied by a physical response and this one feels to Castiel like a punch in his gut. He wants to vanish, to depart with a thought, but the grace left inside him after yesterday is still thin and weak. With one last glance at Dean, he quietly stands, walks to the door, and leaves.

 

Castiel walks and walks and walks until he steals a pickup truck. He feels badly that he does not feel very badly about it, but the Impala and the Challenger are at the bunker and they will need transportation. He is grateful that Nora taught him how to drive and recalls that she was a very patient instructor. He has been gone for several hours, enough time for Dean to come clean with Sam and for Castiel to figure out when he became a common criminal. (Post apocalypse, he thinks.)

He knocks loudly on the cabin door before entering. Sam looks up from his seat at the table, his eyes red rimmed and dull. “Cas,” he says, and in three swift steps he has Castiel enfolded in his abnormally long arms. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “My memory, it’s messed up. He screwed with my head. But Dean told me everything.”

Sam has never hugged Castiel before. It feels odd, but nice, yet very different from Dean’s embrace. When Sam releases him, he is somewhat relieved.

“Everything?” Castiel asks and Sam nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s cool, Cas. You and Dean together is good. He needs something for himself. Something…good. Something that isn’t…”

“That isn’t you,” Castiel finishes for him.

“Yeah.”

“Where is he?” Castiel looks around the open space for signs of Dean.

“He went to look for you, and a car, about an hour ago.”

“I didn’t see him on my way back here.”

Sam shrugs. “Look, you should know, we had a long talk. It got a bit heated. Cas, what he did, what he let happen,” Sam runs his hand through his hair, shakes his head. “And Kevin. I didn’t know. I killed Kevin, Cas. I can’t undo that.”

“It wasn’t you, Sam. It was Gadreel.”

“Yeah, I get that, but you see it _was_ me. Kevin died by my hand. And it didn’t have to happen. None of it had to happen. I was ready to go if it was my time. And it was.”

“I understand,” Castiel says. “Even so, I am glad that you are here now, Sam. That you are still with us.”

“How are you not pissed? What he did to you, you could have been killed. The angels are all after you, and he kicked you out, with nothing.”

“Well, I didn’t get killed…”

“Yeah you did, Cas. And even after that he made you go. It was heartless.”

Castiel exhales slowly. “Sam, Dean is many things, but not heartless. Never heartless.”

Sam huffs and turns away but Castiel continues. “Everything he did was out of love. For you, Sam. If anything, he loves too much.”

“It’s not as selfless as you think, Cas.” Sam speaks quietly, bows his head. “In any event, I’m going to go. After we take care of Gadreel. I have to leave for a while. I’ve already told Dean. I have to get away from…”

Sam does not finish but he does not have to. Castiel wants to find Dean. He should not be alone. Castiel closes his eyes and concentrates, tries to gauge his grace level when he hears Dean’s voice. It is faint, distant, but his words are clear. “Cas, you getting this? I really fucked up this time, man. But I got this, so, don’t look for me. It’s a trap, I’m the bait, so don’t do it. You’re all I’ve got, Cas, so don’t you do it, you hear me? Don’t you dare do it.”

“Dean!” Castiel calls out his name involuntarily. He feels his heart race and his legs weaken so he grabs onto the back of the couch for support. “No, Dean.”

Sam twists back around quickly. “What? What is it?”

Castiel blinks at Sam, then closes his eyes. “It’s Metatron. He has Dean. And it’s my fault.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's POV is so hard to write...next time (if there is one) it will be from Dean's POV.


	12. Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Castiel plan their next step and have a discussion about Dean.

It starts in his belly and works its way up like a flame; burning, sucking the air from his lungs. The muscles of his neck, shoulders, and jaw tighten and distend.  Castiel does not realize he is clutching the chair by the table until he hears the crack of the wood, feels it crumble under his fingers.  The lights they just replaced flash and buzz with the rise and fall of Castiel’s chest until they burst one at a time, spraying tiny shards of glass across the two rooms. 

“You okay?” Sam asks and reaches for Castiel’s arm but Castiel flings his arm out and away.  Sam stumbles backwards and catches himself before he falls. “What’s happening Cas?”  Sam shouts.

“I’m sorry Sam,” Castiel says slowly between heavy breaths as he regains control and the rage begins to subside.  “It’s this grace.”

Castiel sees Sam’s fear and confusion. “I must explain,” he says and they sit at the kitchen table while Castiel tells Sam about Theo, the stolen grace, the side effects he has been experiencing since he allowed the foreign grace into his body.

“I believe we should split up,” Castiel concludes.  “It's been getting worse.  When it comes, there are seconds of time in which I am without control.  Something could happen in those moments, Sam, something bad.  It would be safer for you to not be near me.”

“Not happening, Cas.” 

“But Sam, I'm…” 

Sam waves his hand, makes it clear that his decision is not open for discussion.  “Dean is my brother.  I may be mad at him – hell, I am beyond words furious with him – but he’s still my brother and he and I will either deal or not deal with our issues after we get him back.”  He pushes back the chair and stands.  “I need your help with that and it looks like maybe you need mine."

Castiel concedes with a nod. Saving Dean is the most important thing right now and Sam's knowledge and hunting skills will be of great help. "And if you have to, you will protect yourself from me in any way necessary?"

"I will,"  Sam says.  "So where do we start?”

 

Sam smoothes the wrinkled paper with a flat hand.  “So that’s all there is to it?  The spell ends when you get your grace back?”

“In a nutshell, yes.  Unless, of course, Crowley was lying when he wrote this down.”

“Which is definitely possible.”

“But if this is true, the spell does not just end, it reverses.  The angels will revert to their original states.  They will have wings again.  They will be able to return to heaven.”

“So you've got that bad angel's grace now, and when it’s working you can fly because you were human when the spell thing went down and you didn’t lose your wings?”

“Yes, to sum it up simply."

Sam points to some words scrawled in the bottom corner of the paper.  “And what does this part mean?  ‘Should either Human or Angel cease to exist by deed of the other, the condition shall remain in perpetuity.’  Then Crowley wrote 'Squirrel' followed by a question mark.  I don’t get it, Cas. Does he mean Dean?  What does Dean have to do with this?”

Castiel hesitates.  “The grace used for the spell was mine because of Dean’s connection to me.”

“What?  That doesn’t make sense.”

“The grace required was that of an angel loved by a human.”

“That’s not what Crowley told me.”

“He also told you it could not be reversed.  He lied.  He knew you were possessed.”

“Still, couldn’t that be any angel?”  Sam sounds hopeful.  “Lots of humans love angels, sight unseen, based on religious beliefs, and…”

“No, Sam.”

“Oh,” Sam nods. “Okay, then. But that would never happen, the ceasing to exist thing, with you and Dean, so nothing to worry about there, right?”

“Right,” Castiel agrees, and as he feels Theo’s grace hum deep within him, low and constant, he prays that he is speaking the truth.

 

Castiel watches Sam stuff a backpack with items from the kitchen and basement.  “So we get phones right off the bat,” Sam says.  “We’ll stop at the first place we find and grab some burners.”

“I can hear prayers, Sam, you could always pray to me.”

“That’s only one-way Cas.  That won’t cut it.”

Castiel agrees that Sam has a point.   He has never really liked phones, has never quite gotten used to them, but the Winchesters rely on them heavily and he can’t deny their fundamental usefulness.

“So you and Dean, huh?”  Sam says casually, as if he is asking about the weather.  “How did that…I mean what finally…you know.”

“I returned to the bunker the night Kevin died.”  Sam winces at the mention of Kevin’s death, and Castiel feels badly but continues.  “Dean was quite distraught.  He had too much to drink…”

“Of course he did.”  Sam's lips contort into an exaggerated frown.  “He didn’t take advantage of you did he Cas?  Because he has this habit of making big decisions for other people without their consent."

Castiel glances sidelong at Sam.  “No Sam, of course not.  We both were drinking. We were inebriated but there was mutual consent before we ever…”

Sam holds up his hand, cutting him off.  “Okay you know what?  I really don’t want to know.” They stand silently for a few moments before Sam speaks again.  “So, do you, uh, love him?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be sure?  Don’t take this the wrong way Cas, no offense, but you’ve got nothing to compare it to. I mean, I didn’t even think angels could, uh, love love. I knew there was something between you and Dean, your profound bond, whatever, but I thought anything more than that was pretty much all Dean. In fact, I should have figured out that something was wrong when he seemed so okay with you leaving the bunker when you were human.”

“What do you mean?”

“Because honestly, I always thought that was what he wanted – you human or, at least, wingless.  To be on equal footing with you, so you couldn’t just zap out of there when things got a little rough, so you wouldn’t want to.   And then the two of you could drink beer and eat bacon burgers and pie and not have salad together and hunt happily ever after.“  Sam snickers at his own joke.

Castiel can not help but smile at Sam’s recitation and how very wonderful the life he described for him and Dean sounds to him.  Castiel wants to reply to Sam's question.  He still has a hard time expressing these emotions, but he thinks if he explains them well enough, Sam will see his brother in a way he never could, or never would before. 

“Sam, you are right, this is new to me and I have no reference point, no comparison. I only know that there is no thing I would not do for him, no place I would not go with him, no sacrifice I would not make for him.  You say he wants me to be human.  My wings, they give me flight, allow me to travel between heaven and earth and the spaces in between, to see all that there is and can be and before I was human I thought I would be nothing without them.  But now I know that they do not define me and I will readily give them up if in doing so I can give to Dean a fraction of what he has given me. Because of him, I am enlightened.  Knowing him has changed who I am and who I want to be and I have no need for wings to traverse a universe that holds no meaning for me without him.”  Castiel pauses. “That is how I feel. What is that, Sam?”  he asks earnestly. “What do you call that?””

Sam stares at Castiel.  “Wow,” he says.

“I hope I’ve explained myself adequately,” Castiel says with genuine concern.  “These human emotions are difficult enough to comprehend, let alone verbalize.  Perhaps that’s why they so often aren’t.” 

Sam grins, not out of amusement but of understanding.  “Oh no, you've explained it perfectly.  You just described everything I have wanted for years now, everything I thought I had once, before I came back to hunting.  It's what I hope to find again someday, one of the reasons why I’m going to have to leave for a while. But Dean, I guess he already has it.”  Sam sighs heavily. “Yes, Cas, what you described is definitely love.”  He laughs, slaps Castiel on the back to lighten the mood.  “And now I’m just jealous.  My brother is a very lucky man.” 

Sam pulls Castiel into yet another hug and this one feels more comfortable than the last one, so much so that Castiel is sad when it ends.  He will miss Sam Winchester when he leaves, but he knows that these brothers must part before they can ever be together again.

“I would have killed you, Sam.”  At this moment he feels close to Sam, and the confession rolls off of his tongue and out of his mouth before he realizes the poor timing of it.  “If Gadreel had tried to harm Dean, if I had no other choice, I would have.”

“I know,” Sam says.  “And I will always be counting on that.” 

 

“So, you’re officially my brother now.”  Sam grins at Castiel, throws his backpack in the extended cab of the truck and jumps into the driver’s seat. 

Castiel slides in next to him, his arms wrapped around Dean’s duffel bag, the Spear of Destiny still safely hidden inside.  “I like that,” he says. 

“This plan.  Not sure how I feel about it.”  Sam puts the truck in gear and pulls away from the cabin and down the unpaved dirt road.

“I understand your trepidation, Sam, but we have no other options.”

Sam frown and nods.  “I guess not.  Music?” he asks. 

Castiel shrugs with one shoulder but takes the cue.  His hand is on the dial when he hears the distinct sound of a cell phone ringing. It's coming from Sam.  “Is that a phone?” he asks.

Sam grabs at his jacket and his eyes widen as he pulls the noisy object out of the inside pocket.  “Not mine,” he says.

“Then what is it?”  Castiel asks.  

Sam’s lips curl up and his eyes brighten as he watches the still flashing phone.  “Another option,” he replies calmly, then presses the answer button and holds the phone to his ear.


	13. Pretense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam pretends to be Gadreel. Castiel and Sam locate Metatron.

“What has happened, Gadreel?”

The truck comes to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road when Sam hits the brakes quick and hard. He leans toward Castiel, angles the phone slightly as if to share it, but it is not necessary. Castiel is able to hear the voice on the other end of the call and recognizes it. _Metatron_ he mouths to Sam who acknowledges with a flick of his thumb.

“What do you mean?” Sam asks.

“Dean Winchester. You were supposed to bring him to me. Imagine my surprise when I found him myself, and he was praying to you Gadreel. Well, praying is probably not the right word considering all of the profanity. Charming. Didn’t you hear him Gadreel?”

Castiel’s chest tightens and he drops his chin, attempts to hide his anguish from Sam. He was selfish to allow Dean to go without the wards. He should have applied them regardless of Dean’s wishes. He could have done it while Dean slept, or while he was with Castiel, lying beside him, he would have only had to reach out and touch…

“I did.” Sam shakes Castiel’s shoulder to get his attention. “I made a mistake Metatron.”

“Yes, you did. And you sound a lot like the Winchester you are wearing.”

“Thank you.” Sam looks at Castiel and shrugs. “I have been…assimilating. Dean Winchester can’t tell the difference.”

“I suppose it will take some getting used to. At any rate, Dean Winchester is now trying to negotiate with me, believe it or not.” Metatron chuckles. “I’m sure his Angel is not far behind. I’m counting on it. I have more work for you, Gadreel, and I will need your help with this Winchester when Castiel shows up.”

“What kind of help?” Sam asks.

“The kind of help I expect from my second in command. Stop whining, Gadreel.” Metatron says sternly, then softens. “Must we do this again? You knew this wouldn’t be easy, these things never are, but in the end, saving Heaven will be its own reward. You and I will be hailed amongst angels as the saviors of Heaven. Remember that, Gadreel, when the work we do now seems…unpleasant. It will all be worth it in the end.”

Castiel grimaces. Metatron is manipulating Gadreel the same way he did Castiel. Gadreel must believe he is making amends, righting the wrong he did so very long ago, and like Castiel, he has fallen prey to an angel hell bent on revenge. Briefly, Castiel feels sympathy for Gadreel, or perhaps it is empathy, until he remembers that Kevin is dead and Sam was taken and the feeling begins to slip away. But he can not to let go of it completely. He would never have done what Gadreel has done, he tells himself, but he remembers the nephilim, and the purgatory souls, and the war against Raphael and he tries but is unable to find the difference between Gadreel’s killing and his own.

“Castiel is dangerous,” Metatron continues. “He’s resourceful, and has found a way to empower himself with the grace of a murdered angel. Extraordinary, really, I have to give him that.”

“Yes,” Sam agrees. “Tell me what to do.”

“I will text you the when and where. It’s not far from the bar. And Gadreel, how was Abner?”

Sam looks at Castiel. Castiel shakes his head. He does not know who Abner is although he recalls Gadreel speaking the name just prior to Castiel reaching Sam back at the bunker.

Sam pulls the phone from his ear and taps the off button. “I didn’t know what to say,” he explains. “I don’t know who Abner is.”

“Gadreel called out that name at the bunker. After he realized that Dean and I were…he was visibly distraught, so much so that his weakened emotional state allowed me to reach you. He said ‘Abner, what I have done?’ Think Sam. Do you recall anything about that name?”

Sam concentrates for several moments, then shakes his head. “No. I don’t. But it must have been someone close to him. Another angel, maybe? Who else would Gadreel know besides Dean?”

“Dean was calling for Gadreel. He refused to be warded. He all but gave himself to Metatron. Why Sam? Why would he do that now? Especially now. Why would he do this, without even talking to me?”

Castiel tries to hide his distress but knows he has failed when Sam lays a comforting hand on his arm. “I think he’s trying to get your grace back, Cas. To break the spell, yes, but mostly for you. Because you need it. But he’s safe for now, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” Castiel clears his throat and forces himself back into mission mode. With each day it becomes more and more difficult to compartmentalize his emotions. “Metatron won’t harm him yet. He wants me to harm him. To bind the spell, to make it permanent.”

“Let’s see if Gadreel left any more presents in these clothes.” Sam checks each pocket of his jacket and then his pants. He pulls a folded napkin out of his pants pocket, and his eyes light up when he opens it. “Merry Christmas,” Sam says and holds it up so Castiel can see it. Handwritten on the napkin is the name “Alexander Sarver.” Printed on the other side of the napkin are the words ”Whiskey Joe’s.”

“I think we found the bar,” Sam says.

 

Castiel has always been impressed by Sam’s ability to tap his phone or computer and come up with information. He located Whiskey Joe’s in less than a minute, Castiel burned location wards on Sam's back, and they drove to Washington state in record time.

“So Gadreel is either MIA or he is intentionally blowing Metatron off.” Sam stabs at his salad with his fork. They chose a diner and a motel on the outskirts of town. “Here’s an idea, Cas. If I can pass for Gadreel, I can meet Metatron at the bar rather than wait for his text.  I can play it by ear from there." 

“Sam, as soon as Metatron lays eyes on you he will know you are not Gadreel. And if Gadreel decides to contact Metatron in the meantime, we will be found out.” Castiel picks up his burger and holds it, but he can not bring himself to eat it. His stomach is unsettled, his emotions simmering. He is on the edge, on the verge of something but what that is he is not quite sure. He drops the burger onto the plate, looks up at Sam. “How late is that bar open?”

“Cas, we’ve been driving all day. You look exhausted. It won’t do Dean any good to go in there all worn out and with half a plan.”

Castiel straightens his back and raises his chin, making his intentions clear. “I said, how late is the bar open, Sam?”

 

Whiskey Joe's is, of course, dark and seedy, like Metatron himself, but Castiel has no time to reflect on the aptness of it. He sees Metatron seated at the bar, martini glass in hand. By the rise of his shoulders and shift of his head, Castiel knows that Metatron senses him, knows he is standing behind him.

“Castiel,” he says without turning around. “What a nice surprise.”

Castiel steps forward. “Metatron,” he says evenly. He looks around the bar. There are several other patrons, all absorbed in their own activities, paying no attention to the two angels in their presence. He sees no sign of Dean. “Or should I say Marv?”

Metatron waves his hand. “No, no. As you are probably well aware, I’ve given up all pretense by now.” He gestures to the stool beside him. “Please, sit.”

The bartender approaches, smiles with familiarity, and offers Castiel a drink.

“He’ll have what I’m having.” Metatron orders and watches intently as the tall, square jawed man prepares the drink and sets it in front of Castiel.

“Here ya go,” the barman says, then leaves them.

Metatron leans into Castiel. “Gadreel’s old vessel,” he says, his voice hushed as if confiding in an old friend. “Vessels are getting harder and harder to find these days. We have to keep our eyes on the good ones when we find them.” Metatron looks down the bar at the man. “Thought about taking him myself, trying out a more attractive vessel for a while, but it would all get too distracting. You know how that goes, don’t you Castiel?”

Metatron's leer is unsettling, and Castiel makes a mental note to smash his face when he destroys him.

Metatron continues. “There is much work to be done. We’ll just keep him as backup in case something happens to the other one. You never know with these Winchesters. True Castiel?”

Castiel remains stoic despite his relief that Metatron does not know about Gadreel’s exorcism from Sam. He wonders if Gadreel has found another vessel or if he is simply choosing to remain in his incorporeal form.

“You have something I want.” Castiel speaks coolly yet firmly. He wants to kill Metatron, stab him with his blade. He can, he thinks, although he has no idea how many like Gadreel Metatron has working on his behalf, there are no other angels in this bar. But doing so would end all hope of finding Dean, all hope of returning the angels to heaven.

“All business tonight Castiel?” Metatron gestures toward Castiel’s drink. “No?” he asks. “Not even one for old times sake?”

Castiel says nothing.

Metatron puts his drink down on the bar. “Okay then. Fine. Your Winchester?” he asks. “Is that what you came for?”

“No.” Castiel says. “My grace.”

Metatron appears baffled briefly before twisting his face into a mocking sneer. “Uh oh, trouble in paradise? Already?”

Castiel does not respond and Metatron laughs. “I predicted this actually, just didn’t expect it so soon. He is a difficult one to say the least. A very complex character. All of the torment of Ernest Hemingway spiked with a pinch of Oscar Wilde. So many layers, that Winchester, and I don’t mean his hunter chic ensemble. It must be exhausting being him.”

“Dean Winchester is no longer my concern,” Castiel says. “I want my grace back. I need my grace back.”

“Your grace back.” Metatron speaks slowly, as if contemplating.

Castiel knows that Metatron will not return his grace since doing so will reverse the spell, and he has not quite figured out yet exactly why Metatron had offered it to him back in the old library. But Metatron clearly does not know that Castiel knows about the spell reversal. “I will work with you,” Castiel offers. “Help you re-create Heaven. Make it a better place.”

“You stole something from me, Castiel. I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.”

“The prophet’s body is safe,” Castiel replies. “I have prevented it from being buried or burned, as you wanted.”

“Hmmm.” Metatron chews his lip and looks Castiel over. “I want to trust you. I truly do, Castiel. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for you. But I will need something from you. Some sign of good faith on your part.”

Castiel does not hesitate. “I have something you want.”

“ _You_ have something _I_ want?”

“I have the Holy Lance.”

Metatron’s hand flings out in surprise and knocks his drink over. “You have what?”

“I have the Spear of Destiny.” Castiel remains unflappable. “And I am willing to make a trade.”


	14. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean prays to Castiel throughout the night.

“Okay, so get this.” Sam looks up from the laptop computer on the table in front of him. “An Alexander Sarver was murdered in his home three days ago.”

Castiel closes up Dean’s duffel bag and carefully sets it on the floor by his feet. He looks across the table at Sam. “Did an angel do it?”

“That’s the thing, I can’t tell. It says nothing about the eyes being burned out. Looks like his throat was slit.”

Castiel narrows his eyes.

“And according to his wife, he had recently turned his life around. Used to be angry and abusive, but a few months ago he suddenly changed completely.” Sam looks over at Castiel. “About the same time the angels fell.”

“He was an angel,” Castiel concludes.

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Abner?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. But if he was an angel, I have concern about the manner in which he was killed.”

“Why is that?”

Castiel lowers his eyes. “That’s what I did, Sam,” he says softly. “To steal Theo’s grace. That’s how Metatron took my grace.”

“So you think someone, another angel, stole this Abner’s -or whoever this angel is - grace?”

Castiel feels sick to his stomach, repulsed by the thought that he began this horrendous thing, that other angels are following his example and slaughtering for a grace that is all but useless to an angel who already has grace, since only one grace can exist within an angel. It would be nothing more than a trophy, except for the other uses, nefarious uses for angel grace that Castiel can not bring himself to think about. “It looks that way Sam. But I pray that I am wrong.”

Sam closes the computer. “We should hit the sack, Cas.”

Castiel looks around the room. “What sack?”

Sam grins. “I mean go to bed. To sleep. You are meeting Metatron again tomorrow, and I expect Gadreel will get a text or a call very soon.”

“All right,” Castiel says, and he goes to the bed he has claimed as his for the night and sits quietly while Sam readies himself for sleep.

 

“Dear Cas, wherever thou may be, hopefully with Sam. You gettin’ this?”

Sam is brushing his teeth and Castiel is still seated on his bed when he hears Dean.

“Look, I don’t know where I am, could be fucking Tatooine for all I know, but I wouldn’t tell you if I did. I have a plan, Cas, so don’t try any caped crusader shit. It’s a good plan. It’ll work, so don’t you worry.” Dean makes a sound, something between a sigh and a huff. “Okay, it’s a crap plan, but it’s less crappy than the crap plan that got me here, so it’s not too bad, right?”

Castiel can’t help but smile, even though he doesn’t understand the references. This prayer sounds so Dean, sounds so normal, as if Dean is there, beside him, near him.

“Don’t stop.” Castiel speaks aloud to Dean although Dean will never hear it.

“Say what?” Sam calls out from the bathroom. “Did you say something?”

“Sorry, no,” Castiel replies. He takes off his coat, jacket, and shoes and neatly sets them aside. Dean would insist that this was the minimal amount of clothing removal required for sleeping, and Castiel has learned that the more he removed the less sleep he got.

“So, Cas? I don’t know if you are getting these because some of these rooms have wards I don’t even recognize and I don’t know what they’re for. But damn, I am so fucking hungry right now. And cold. It’s pretty cold here, wherever the hell I am.” Dean laughs. “So I guess it’s probably not Tatooine, huh? That was a joke, Cas, you didn’t get it, I know. But you will, soon, because when I get done kicking ass here, we are going to marathon Star Wars. Me and you and a big screen TV. That’s the only thing the bunker has been missing – a big screen TV.” Dean pauses, lowers his voice. “And you. The other thing the bunker has been missing is you. But not anymore, right? Not anymore.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Sam sits down on the edge of his double bed across from Castiel.

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “I’m just...listening.”

“To what?” Sam asks, but before Castiel can respond Sam appears to know the answer and he leans over and pats Castiel twice on the arm. “He’s gonna be fine, Cas. He’s Dean. Try to get some rest. You need it now. We’ll get him back. We will.”

Sam turns off the lamp on the table between the two beds and crawls under the covers. Castiel settles back onto his bed pillows and tries to get comfortable, then closes his eyes and waits. He waits for Dean’s voice in prayer, waits for the sun to rise, waits for the grace inside him to grow stronger. Castiel has never minded waiting before, but tonight it is wholly unbearable and he wonders how he will ever make it to the morning.

 

“Cas, man, I’m tired.” Castiel stirs when he hears his voice again. It takes Castiel a moment to realize that his far too human body has betrayed him, that he has fallen asleep. It takes him another moment to realize that Dean’s voice is not a dream, but another prayer.

“I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep. I should, I need to, but I just can’t.” Castiel can hear the exhaustion in Dean’s voice, in the slight slur of his words. “So I’ve been thinking. You know what else we should do Cas? Holidays. Sam and I, we never do holidays. We never really did since Mom died. We did Christmas sometimes. Not every time, but once in a while, mostly when we were younger. Once we went to Bobby’s and that was nice. I tried to, sometimes, for Sam. Tried to do something for his birthday when we could, get him a gift, anything, but Dad was never there. I think he just forgot, you know? Forgot the days of the week, forgot the months of the year. That’s what happens when you’re not paying attention.”

Castiel rolls onto his side and continues to listen.

“We won’t forget though. We’ll put it on a calendar. The birthdays, Sam’s and mine and… you’ll have to pick one Cas. You get to pick one, any day you want, you choose, and that will be your birthday. And we’ll celebrate it like it’s the best goddamn day that ever was, you hear me? With cake and pie and fireworks, like the Fourth of July. Oh, yeah, we can’t forget the Fourth of July and the fireworks. Sammy and I did that once. It was in my heaven, remember that Cas?”

Dean makes a soft, breathy sound that affects Castiel in a way he is not used to. He feels a knot in his throat much like when Dean asked him to leave the bunker, yet somehow different; he feels his eyes moisten. He wants to tell Dean to sleep, that he will come to him while he dreams, but Dean can't hear him and Castiel does not have the energy to spare for dreamwalking.

“Hey Cas, do you think that heaven changes? Because I think mine would be different now. I think I want mine to be different now.”

Castiel does not realize that he had been holding back tears until he can’t anymore, and once they begin to spill he concentrates on being quiet, biting off the sounds trying to spew from his throat.

“I’m gonna sleep now.” Dean whispers. “I’m just so tired. But I wanna tell you something, misguided angel. You know how it is, right Cas? You know that I…aw, fuck. You know, right?”

“I love you Dean,” Castiel breathes out. This time the words are loud and clear despite his efforts at silence, but like last time, Dean cannot hear them.

And if the small gasp that comes from Sam’s direction means that Sam is awake and heard Castiel, he will never know as Sam lies still in his bed and Castiel rolls onto his stomach, presses his face into the pillow, and waits for sunlight.


	15. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam opens up to Castiel. Castiel begins to question angelic history.

For as long as he can remember, Castiel has had doubt. Doubt about Heaven’s plans, doubt about his earthly duties, doubt about his place among the entirety of it all. And, if Naomi is to be believed, he has had doubt about things that have long been erased from his memory. _Emotions are doorways to doubt_ he was told by his superiors, then reminded of it in painful and unpleasant ways. Castiel knows now that they were wrong. Castiel’s doubt came well before his emotions, though it was the emotions, as tenuous as they were at that time, that spurred him to finally act on his doubt. It was Dean Winchester who helped him understand that he could reject the status quo; that he could disengage from the machine; that he could choose.

Castiel did choose. In a beautiful room in Van Nuys, California, he chose humanity and Dean Winchester. He learned that doubt was an impetus to change and that change is a necessary part of human growth. He had no reason to fear doubt. It wasn’t doubt that started war after war. It wasn’t doubt that enabled mass murder and genocide. It was blind and unquestioned certitude and that is what he now fears most.

So when Sam Winchester asks Castiel if he is doing okay in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, Castiel has no trouble voicing his uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Are you still, uh, listening? To Dean?”

Castiel rolls onto his side and faces Sam. “No. He was finally able to sleep.”

“Oh,” Sam says. “That’s good. I guess.” He pauses, then, “Is he okay?”

“I don’t believe he’s injured, if that’s what you mean.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s what I mean. And that’s good. That he’s not hurt.”

“I didn’t say that,” Castiel says. He cannot see Sam’s face, only the dark outline of his long, lean body lying sideways on the bed across from him.

“I want him back too,” Sam says.

“I know.”

“No, I mean, I really do. I’m so mad at him, I am. I can’t trust him anymore, and I don’t know if we can ever work together again. But I do love him. The way we left it, though, was not good. When he told me about Kevin, I completely lost it. I did. I almost hit him. He walked out mumbling something about needing to find you to apologize, slammed the door behind him.” Sam flops onto his back. “So I’m not so sure he knows that I want him back too.”

“He knows, Sam.”

“He hurt me, too, Cas.”

“You hurt each other.”

“You’re saying it’s not all his fault?”

“I’m not laying blame.”

“But you’re right. It’s not all his fault. I let it happen. I went along with it. Hell I even needed it sometimes. And I can’t help but think that if it hadn’t been for the demon blood, and Ruby, if it hadn’t been for …”

“Stop, Sam. That’s not productive. For now, we have to focus on finding your brother.”

“And getting your grace back. And the angels. And Gadreel.”

Castiel sighs. He says nothing while he glances at the window and the fragments of morning light that infiltrate the ragged, threadbare curtain and flutter across the room. He cares little about the angels right now, and even less about his grace. His thought process has been forever altered. His priorities are shifting and the sun is rising and he welcomes these things wholeheartedly.

“What did he say?” Sam asks. “In his, uh, prayer?”

Castiel hesitates to share Dean’s prayers with Sam, and Sam appears to sense it. “I mean, does he know where he is? “

“He doesn’t know,” Castiel says. “But he has ruled out Tatooine.”

Sam laughs aloud. “Yeah, that sounds like Dean.”

Castiel grins too, even though he still has no idea what or where Tatooine is.

Castiel sits up on the bed, and Sam is doing the same when the cell phone on the bedside table between them rings. Gadreel’s cell phone. Sam grabs the phone and shakes his head. “Not Metatron,” he says when he sees the number.

“Who then?”

“I don’t know. Metatron’s number was the only one in the phone.”

Without further discussion, Sam taps the phone and answers it. “Yes?” he says.

“Sam Winchester?”

“Who is this?”

“It is me, Sam. The angel Gadreel.” The voice of the vessel is hushed and urgent. “It is imperative that I speak with you and Castiel.”

 

They agree to meet with Gadreel without debate. Castiel recognized Gadreel’s new voice to be that of the bartender who had served him and Metatron at Whisky Joe’s. Gadreel said little over the phone, explained only that he had to wait for an opportune moment before he could enter his former vessel again.

They choose the diner outside of town. Gadreel is waiting when they arrive, seated alone in a far corner booth, a cup of coffee between his hands on the table in front of him.  He looks up when they walk toward him and moves to stand, but Castiel shakes his head once as Sam slides across the empty bench seat opposite Gadreel and Castiel sits next to Sam.

Gadreel smiles, hesitant, unsure. It is unnatural but Castiel does not detect any malice in it. Sam struggles to remain calm, his leg shakes, and Castiel helps him with a quick two-finger touch to Sam’s thigh under the table.

“Sam.” Gadreel taps his own chest. “It is good to see you. You as well, Castiel.“

There is familiarity in Gadreel’s voice, a fondness in his eyes when he looks upon Sam while Sam avoids eye contact. “What do you want, Gadreel?” Castiel asks curtly.

“We must talk,” he says quickly as he glances around the room. “About Metatron.”

Before Castiel has a chance to respond, a waitress is smiling down at them. “Are these your friends Handsome?” she asks Gadreel and he replies with a simple “yes.” She places mugs in front of Castiel and Sam. “Hello boys, I’m Dot.” She points to her name tag. “Your food will be up in a jiffy.” She pours coffee into each cup, then leaves them.

“I ordered for you,” Gadreel says to Sam.

“No,” Sam's defiance is palpable. “You don’t do that.”

“Sam, you must eat. You are not completely recovered from the trials, this I know,” Gadreel says.

Sam still refuses to look at the Angel across the table, his discomfort tangible, but the Angel is not put off.

“Two eggs poached. Turkey bacon, dry toast, fruit slices instead of hash browns. I have ordered your favorite breakfast.”

Sam folds his arms across his chest and grunts.

“I didn’t know what to order for you Castiel, or whether you eat at all. So I selected the house special of pancakes and sausage for both of us upon the recommendation of our experienced and exceedingly friendly waitress.” Gadreel shakes his head. “I really haven’t quite grown accustomed to eating yet, although I did do a great deal of it with Dean. Dean likes to eat. He particularly enjoys burgers with bacon and pie. He could not get enough of it.”

Castiel grows angry. He can feel it inside him, simmering. “You may not speak of Dean,” he says, his tone low, deep, and threatening. If he feels this way when Gadreel mentions Dean, he wonders what Sam must be feeling, how hard this must be for him.

“As you wish,” Gadreel says with a nod and a hint of compassion. “I thank you both for coming. I know this took a great deal of trust on your part, so I must begin with apologies.”

“Save it,” Sam blurts out.

“No, I must say it. I am not sorry for possessing you, Sam, because I saved you. You are alive today and you would not be without my intervention.”

“You. Murdered. Kevin.” Sam’s words come out as grunts, his teeth clenched, his mouth constricted.

Gadreel lowers his eyes. “For that I am sorry.”

Castiel looks between Sam and Gadreel. “What has Metatron done with Dean?” he demands.

“Metatron has Dean?”

Castiel glances at Sam, whose forehead creases with suspicion. “Tell us where he is keeping him.”

“I don’t know.” Gadreel shakes his head. “But yes, of course. He wants you, Castiel. He is using Dean to lure you in.”

“Bullshit you don’t know,” Sam says. “You’re working with him.”

“No,” GadreeI says. “I have not had contact with Metatron since…” He stops and looks out of the window next to their booth.

“Since you were forced to leave Sam,” Castiel says.

Gadreel’s shoulders droop. He looks down at his empty hands, folded together on the table. “Since I killed Abner,” he says.

Castiel drops his fist onto the table. The noise startles Gadreel. “Who is Abner? I don’t know any angel named Abner.”

“Anbriel,” Gadreel says. “His name was Anbriel. Abner was what I called him in prison. Abner was my name for him. Much in the way Dean calls you Cas.”

“Anbriel,” Castiel repeats. “He was stationed on earth during what you call the middle ages,” he explains to Sam. “He was later imprisoned for abandoning his post and allowing the Holy Lance to fall into pernicious hands. As a result, the Black Death was unloosed upon the land and nearly half of the population was lost.”

“No,” Gadreel says.

“Oh my god,” Sam exclaims. “An angel caused the plague?”

“Is that not what is written, Gadreel?” Castiel challenges.

“That is how it is written,” Gadreel agrees. “But it is not how it happened. The tale has been twisted, just like what occurred in the Garden. The story was perverted by the archangels, to justify imprisonment, to keep order, to silence me and later Abner about their continued dealings with Lucifer.”

“But it is written,” Castiel says slowly.

“And have you never doubted what has been written, Castiel? Have you never doubted what you have been told?”

Castiel leans forward over the table. “What are you saying, Gadreel?”

“Here you go boys!” Dot’s uncanny timing and enthusiasm cracks the mounting tension and Castiel feels somewhat relieved. The burning inside him subsides, and he leans into the backrest of the booth as she places a plate before each of them. “Two eggs poached for the cutie pie, house special for handsome and handsomer. I’ll let you two sort out which is which. Eat up!”

“It was the archangels,” Gadreel says once the waitress has moved on. “It was always the archangels.”

Castiel listens intently to Gadreel as he recounts his story. He tells them about the Garden, how he was one of several sentries entrusted to guard the Garden, all hand picked by God and trained by the archangels. He was proud and pleased. He loved God, he loved earth, he loved all of god’s creations but particularly Adam and Eve.

“Then I was chosen, by Raphael, to bring a gift into the Garden. A new creature, a serpent. It was beautiful, graceful, and wise. Raphael and Lucifer explained to me that the gift was from Lucifer, who had rejected God’s creations and caused great discord in Heaven. Lucifer told me he was remorseful and wished to repent, but he could only do so with my help. I was advised, and believed, that the gift was a true act of contrition.”

“You actually believed Lucifer?” Sam huffs in disbelief.

“Who was I to question? He was an archangel, God’s most beautiful, the Morning Star. I was but a soldier. It was not my place to question. It is no angel’s place to ever question.”

Castiel is confounded. Since the beginning of time, the angels have blamed Gadreel for all that is wrong with Heaven and earth. Gadreel is the sentinel that betrayed God, the one who set into motion a series of events that allowed evil to pervade and forever ruin God’s favored creations. Yet there is truth in Gadreel’s words and it is a truth Castiel does not want to hear, a truth he does not want to know yet somehow, already does.

“But you are different Castiel,” Gadreel says. “You are a soldier, yes, but you question. You do not follow blindly. You make your own decisions. You love. It is unheard of.”

A sudden swell of emotions comes over Castiel. Sadness, regret, fear, guilt, disappointment, disbelief, pity, gratitude, love. They hit him like waves, one after the other, the impact hard and stinging at first but then softening, falling back slowly and pooling in the pit of his stomach. It makes him woozy and nauseas.

“Hey, Cas, you okay?” Sam slips his arm is around Castiel’s back. “You gonna be sick?”

Castiel thinks of Dean. Where would he be now if not for Dean? He would still be one of Zachariah’s hammers. He would have been the one sent to kill Sam instead of Anna, and he would have succeeded. He would kill without doubt or hesitation and feel no true remorse, no real regret. He would not know yearning, or passion, or desire. He would not know love. When Dean rejected him in the bunker kitchen, he wanted nothing more than to never feel again, but now he cannot envision a life without feeling, a life without love, a life without Dean.

“No, Sam,” Castiel says after taking a few long, deep breaths. "I will be fine."

“What happened to Abner?” Sam asks.

“He left his post, that much is true, and the Lance was indeed lost. But it was a difficult time for angels and humans alike. Raphael was engaged in his quest to commence the apocalypse without releasing Lucifer from his cage. Of course, it could not be done, and he failed, but not before Pestilence and Death took millions upon millions of lives. Abner blamed himself, of course. He took his punishment every day without complaint. He was a good angel.”

“Why did you kill him?’’ Sam asks.

Gadreel cringes, his expression pained. “I was ordered to do so by Metatron. It occurred to me to disobey, but I did not. This I also regret.”

“Did you take his grace?” Castiel asks.

“Yes,” Gadreel admits, and holds his hand over his shirt pocket near his heart. “His grace is beautiful, so pure and bright despite the years of torture and shame. I could not let it dim. I could not let it go out. You see, I loved him, Castiel.”

“Yet you killed him.”

“Yes,” Gadreel lowers his eyes and voice. “The two are not mutually exclusive. I did what I thought I had to do for the angels, for Heaven. I was wrong.”

Castiel recalls a time when he nearly beat Dean to death while under Naomi’s control and he questions what he would have done in Gadreel’s position. How far would he have gone to save the angels and Heaven when Metatron had him believing that he was doing so?

“I would never hurt Dean.” Castiel whispers. It was not meant to be said out loud but once it is, Castiel pushes himself up from the table and gestures to Sam that they should leave.

“No, you would not. And that is why you are a better angel than I,” Gadreel says. “Metatron is mad. He is insane and he must be stopped. I can help.”

Sam pulls Castiel’s arm. “I think we should keep listening,” he says. Castiel considers for several moments before taking his seat beside Sam. Sam begins to eat his cooled off food, and Castiel and Gadreel do the same. They talk while they eat, about Heaven, about the angels, and about putting an end to Metatron.

 

“Calling Castiel, Come in Angel of the Lord Castiel. Do you hear me?” Dean’s prayer reaches him as he sits in the passenger seat of the stolen truck, only minutes after leaving Gadreel at the diner. “I'm somewhere else, again. And now I am sure that this is a custom made Castiel-style angel trap because I know exactly where I am this time, thanks to the signs Captain Obvious strategically placed, oh, _everywhere_ , and the Douchebag hasn’t given me a bite to eat. I can’t even read a damn book with my stomach making so much frigging noise. I think he’s starving me out, hoping I’ll call you up and order a pizza delivery or some shit. Not gonna happen, though, Cas.”

“Tell me where you are,” Castiel says angrily.

“Is that Dean?” Sam glances over at him, then returns his attention to the road. “Is he praying to you now?”

Castiel does not answer. Dean has gone quiet, but Castiel knows there is more so he listens hopefully to the silence for several minutes.

“Hey, I think that maybe this isn’t gonna work out the way I planned.” When Dean’s voice returns it is barely above a whisper, and Castiel strains to hear him. “I’m having doubts about getting out of this one. And I know it’s only like ten in the morning, but man, I would do anything right now to hear you say 'hello Dean'."

“Not anything,” Castiel says.

“Okay, not anything,” Dean says, and Castiel’s heart skips a beat because for a brief moment it's as if Dean has heard him, but he knows he cannot. “I can’t tell you where I am, Cas. I can’t let anything happen to you. But you know, I like the way you always say my name. You say it a lot. More than normal people do, you know. And I never told you, but I like it. And the way you say it, like it means something. Like I mean something. I just want to hear it one more time.”

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice slips on the word.

“I didn’t expect this Cas. Us. And I thought I didn’t deserve you, that I didn’t deserve anything good, but now I think that maybe I did do some good things, you know? I know I've done a lot of damage, screwed up plenty of things.  This thing with Sammy, at least we can fix that, when he is ready. But maybe, I did some other things right because why else would you wanna stay? Why else would you keep coming back to me?”

Castiel smiles. Dean’s prayers are honest. Dean’s prayers are expressive. Dean’s prayers are often strangely eloquent.

“That’s what you’ve given me, Cas. So you know, with or without your wings or your halo or your mojo, you’re everything an angel should be.”

“So where is he?” Sam asks. “Any clues at all?”

“Somewhere within the same time zone,” Castiel says. "Somewhere with books."

“What else did he say?”

“Nothing,” Castiel says. “And everything.”


	16. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel trades the Spear of Destiny for his grace. Dean is found.

“Do you think we can do it?” Sam throws the car keys on the motel room table, pulls out a chair, and sits. “Can we trust Gadreel?”

“I don’t know about that, Sam, but I do believe he was telling the truth about Metatron.”

Sam opens his laptop and waits for it to warm up. “And the other stuff?”

Castiel closes the door behind them, removes his coat and sits on the bed. He rubs his palms on his thighs as he considers. “I don’t want to believe it.”

“But you do.”

“Yes. I do.”

“So we bring him in? We work with him?” Sam asks.

“Can you?” Castiel asks.

“I can if you can,” Sam replies. “What other choice do we have? It’s just a matter of time until Metatron figures us out, if he hasn’t already. And we’ve worked with Crowley. This can’t be much different and it can’t be any worse.”

“Making a deal with Crowley may have been a mistake,” Castiel says.

“Doesn’t that go without saying?” Sam smirks. “He is a demon.”

Castiel frowns. “We had no choice, Sam.”

“I know, I know. You were trying to save me. But when you work with demons, there are always consequences.”

Castiel sighs then explains. “I am not confident in his translation of the spell reversal. There’s something…off about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I recovered Kevin’s body from Metatron, he offered to restore my grace if I worked with him. According to Crowley, that would then reverse the spell and allow the angels to return to Heaven. It is counter to Metatron’s intent in casting the spell in the first place.”

“Maybe Metatron was lying to you.”

“Maybe Crowley was lying.”

“Maybe they’re both lying.”

Castiel chuckles. When he looks at Sam, Sam breaks out in laughter, and Castiel follows. They laugh for a full minute, exaggerated, deep, rolling laughter which makes Castiel’s entire body heave and shake. He falls back onto the bed and stays there until it subsides completely.

“I’ve never seen you laugh like that before,” Sam says, catching his breath.

“I don’t think I ever have.”

“It’s been a damn long time since I have.” Sam shakes his head. “It wasn’t even funny. Not at all.”

“I know.”

“Dean would like it. You laughing like that.”

Castiel lowers his eyes and grins. “Yes. I think he would.”

Sam turns back to the laptop. “Speaking of Dean, let’s see if we can find any abandoned libraries, schools, bookstores or book depositories in our time zone and not too far from Whiskey Joe’s.”

 

Theo’s grace has dwindled with each passing hour, with every exertion. Castiel preserved the energy as much as he possibly could. He did not fly, heal, or mojo, as Dean calls it, in any way. He cannot allow himself to lose this foreign grace completely. He will need whatever is left of it to confront Metatron and free Dean. More selfishly, Castiel needs the grace to remain angel, and he must remain angel to hear Dean’s prayers. Dean’s prayers have kept him calm and focused, and right now he would give anything to be able to pray to Dean.

Castiel opens the wooden box and removes its contents. He holds it in one hand and absently strokes it with the other. A weapon annointed with the blood of the Son of God, equally capable of great and tragic deeds. Or so it is written, Castiel thinks, unable to suppress the scorn and skepticism he has felt since the meeting with Gadreel.

“So that’s it, huh?” Sam is still on the computer. He has created a short list of places Metatron may be keeping Dean, based on the limited information they have. “The Spear of Destiny? Dean called it God’s toothpick. I didn’t even remember it until you mentioned it. Never thought twice about it. So it’s a big deal?”

“I’m not so sure anymore.” Castiel’s disillusionment is clear. He does not know what to believe or disbelieve about Heaven and the angels. The only remaining faith of which he is certain is his faith in Dean.

Sam nods knowingly. “I’m sorry Cas.”

Castiel shrugs. He wraps the weapon in a hand towel from the motel bathroom, and slips it into a tear in the lining of his overcoat. “Call Gadreel. It’s time to go get Dean.”

 

Castiel receives the call from Metatron when they are at the local library. It is open for business, but the three of them have managed to slip past the main information desk and down the stairs to search the basement. They see nothing out of place, no wards or runes, no sign that Dean is or ever has been there.

Whiskey Joe’s is once again the meeting place chosen by Metatron. This time, Castiel will bring the Holy Lance. They agree that while Castiel deals with Metatron, Sam and Gadreel will continue to look for Dean. Sam will send Castiel a prayer as soon as they locate him, so Castiel will know without delay that the game plan has changed from saving Dean to destroying Metatron.

 

Whiskey Joe’s is different this time. Castiel can feel the presence of other angels. Metatron is seated at the bar, on the same stool he used last night.

“Welcome, Castiel.” Metatron spins the seat around and faces him. “Come, please, sit with me.”

Castiel moves cautiously across the room, his entire body on alert when he takes the seat next to Metatron. The bar is all but empty, save the three scattered about the room and the young, female barkeep.

“All angels.” Metatron answers the unasked question. “Gadreel has gone missing, it would seem, and I do need some help.”

“Someone to do your dirty work?” Castiel accuses.

“I told you Castiel, I am not a warrior, like you. These are soldiers. Every worthy cause needs soldiers. Brains, brawn, you understand the hierarchy.”

The bartender places a drink in front of Castiel.

“But you, Castiel, you are both. Brains and brawn, all wrapped up in one glorious package. Strategist. Fighter. Dissident. Rebel. We were a good team, Castiel. The angels believe we have been working together all this time. Why not make it so?”

Castiel picks up the tumbler on the bar and takes a sip. Metatron smiles and nods.

“Whiskey. Jack Daniels.”

Castiel glares at Metatron before he tosses his head back and swallows the entire contents of the glass. It burns in the back of his throat, but it tastes like Dean so he savors it.

“Did you bring it?” Metatron asks.

“I did. And my grace?”

Metatron taps his jacket pocket. Castiel expected he would feel his grace if it were nearby, but he senses nothing and becomes suspicious. Metatron signals the bartender and as she refills Castiel’s drink, he hears a voice he recognizes.

“Hey, Cas, still haven’t found him but theres only one place left on this list,” Sam says. “That bookstore on Douglas Street. Gadreel took off, I’m not sure what he is doing, but I mentioned your concerns about the reversal translation, and he mumbled something about Crowley and the demon tablet and left. I should be at the bookstore in a few minutes.”

Castiel sips from his freshened drink. “What have you done with the tablets?” he asks Metatron.

“Tablets?” Metatron raises an eyebrow, emphasizes the plural. “I have the Angel Tablet. Gadreel advised me that the Winchesters no longer had the Demon Tablet and that it fell back into the hands of the Demon Crowley. Do you know otherwise?”

According to Dean, Gadreel took both tablets when he left, yet he only gave one to Metatron. Castiel does not know what to make of this, until he recalls Gadreel telling him and Dean in the dungeon that he had made a “better deal” with Crowley. He and Dean had assumed that Gadreel’s “better deal” with Crowley was simply releasing him, but now he wonders if it included the tablet as well.

“I do not,” Castiel says.

“No matter to me. I know what is on the tablet. Let the demons have at it.”

Castiel nods. “And what are your plans for Dean Winchester?”

Metatron sighs heavily. “Feeling nostalgic are you?”

Hiding his contempt for Metatron becomes more difficult by the minute. Castiel listens for Sam, for Dean, but there is only dead air and he begins to worry.

“I suppose that depends on you, Castiel,” Metatron continues. “I mean, you could keep him as a pet, I suppose, but pets need too much attention and you and I will be very busy, dealing with these angel factions who want us both dead, choosing the inhabitants of New Heaven. New Heaven. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“And do you propose to then leave the rest of the angels on earth?”

“Well, yes.”

“Won’t there be consequences?”

“They will adjust eventually. Some already are. Or they won’t and they will simply take over. There are always consequences, Castiel. These are ones we can live with.”

“And what about Dean?”

Metatron gulps his drink and licks his lips. He cants his head toward his handful of angel soldiers. “I’ll just let them take care of him. At least they won’t whine about it like Gadreel did,” he says casually, then takes another mouthful of liquor.

Castiel narrows his eyes. “I thought you would want me to do it.”

Metatron gasps and spits out the whiskey. “No, no Castiel. Why would I want that?”

“To show my loyalty. I am willing to…”

“Absolutely not!” Metatron slaps his hand on the bar, then calms himself and smiles at Castiel. “You couldn’t do it before, while under Naomi’s control. You can prove your loyalty by giving me the Holy Lance. May I see it now?”

Castiel’s mind is racing. Metatron wants Dean dead but he does not want Castiel to do it. This means that either Metatron does not want the spell to be permanent or Crowley has deceived them. Castiel speculates it is the second explanation.

He reaches into his coat for the Spear very slowly, stalling for time. He had hoped to not have to get this far. Once Metatron has the Lance, he will no longer need Dean and he will send one of his henchmen to kill him. They cannot fly, at least, only he and Metatron can, so Castiel will have some time to get to him. Unless Metatron has an angel stationed there with him already.

“How did you lay hands on it?” he asks Castiel.

“When Anbriel was lured from his post by Raphael’s attempts to start the apocalypse and the Lance was lost, it ended up in the collection of a friend of a friend.”

Metatron snorts. “Ah, so you know the true story of how the Lance was lost? And the Plague? The scribes were ordered to write the history as told to them by the archangels, not necessarily how it happened.”

Castiel nods. Metatron has confirmed what Gadreel told them about Abner, and now Castiel has no doubt that his story of what happened in the Garden is also true.

Metatron watches with glee as Castiel pulls out the Lance and lays it on the bar. Castiel glances around the room, notes the location of each angel, and fingers his angel blade. He may have to act quickly.

Metatron casually extends his arm toward the towel, but Castiel grabs his hand. “First, my grace.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Metatron grapples inside his jacket pocket and removes a small box carved with enochian symbols.

“I don’t feel it,” Castiel says.

“It’s the wards. Here, open it.” He hands the box to Castiel. Castiel holds the box in his hand for a moment before opening it. He is certain that his grace is the key to changing the condition of the angels, but what that change is he no longer knows.

As soon as he opens the lid of the box he knows. This is it. His grace. It glows brightly, reacting to his presence. The small vial that holds energy greater than any mankind could ever generate lies snugly within the velvet cushioned lining.

“Well protected,” Castiel says gratefully.

“Of course,” Metatron responds. “Are you going to put that where it belongs now?”

“I can’t. I still have the grace of another.” Not much of it left, Castiel thinks, but enough for a trip to wherever Dean is, once he knows where that is.

“Yes, I almost forgot.” Metatron looks disappointed. “Oh well, soon I hope? Can’t wait to have the original Castiel back.”

Metatron’s reaction adds to Castiel’s distrust of Crowley’s translation. Metatron wants Castiel to restore his grace. He does not want Castiel to kill Dean, yet he wants Dean dead. And suddenly it hits him, and as he internally chastises himself for being so obtuse and not seeing it sooner, he hears a prayer from Dean Wichester.

“Hey Cas, buddy, someone is here. Someone is coming.” He sounds nervous, or Dean Winchester nervous which to anyone else sounds like exaggerated bravado.

Castiel looks at Metatron, who is gingerly unwrapping the Spear of Destiny from its hand towel casing. The angel recruits have moved in closer to them. The bartender stands behind the bar in front of them.

“I don’t know what’s up, but I’m ready for it.” Dean prays. “I want to tell you thank you for, uhm, getting me out of hell and all that. And for caring about people. And me. Mostly for caring about me. Fuck, thank you for everything."

Castiel knows what those words mean. He used them in purgatory, when he truly believed he would never see Dean again once they reached the portal. When he had given up. But Castiel is not ready for goodbyes.

Castiel reaches for the Spear and disappears from the bar. He arrives at the bookstore and hears Sam’s excited voice. “Cas, he’s here. He’s here, at the bookstore on Douglas. In the basement.”

Castiel is in the basement before Sam finishes his sentence. He knows it is not likely, but Castiel wants to believe that it was only Sam that Dean heard coming and that all of Metatron’s followers are at Whiskey Joe’s. “Dean!” he calls out. “Sam!” He runs down a short corridor and past a broken furnace, then weaves through a series of bookshelves that divide the space into sections, all labeled in large bold letters with the name of the bookstore. His heart pounds heavy in his chest, and he continues to call out for Dean. When he clears the shelf maze, what he sees brings him to a sudden halt.

“Castiel, Castiel, Castiel, I knew you were up to something.” Dean is on is knees next to Metatron, who has a fist in Dean’s hair pulling his head back to expose his neck. Dean’s arms are bound behind his back and Metatron raises the Holy Lance to Dean’s throat. Metatron has two angels with him, different from the ones at the bar, and they use their angel swords to keep Sam at bay.

Castiel looks down at his hands. He holds his grace in one hand but the one he used to grab the Holy Lance is empty. He quickly drops his angel blade into it . He has failed again. His grace reacted to his thoughts about Dean before he was able to fully grasp the Lance, and now Metatron has control over the Spear of Destiny.

“Cas!” Dean manages to get out before he is silenced by a jerk of his head.

“Quiet,” Metatron says to Dean, “Your boyfriend and I are trying to have a conversation.” He looks back at Castiel. “You had me for a while, I must admit, but I suppose being human for as long as you were has debased you. You could not hide that lovesick expression on your face. You let it slip, just once, and that’s all it took.”

Dean shifts his head enough to catch Castiel’s eye and Castiel sees love, hope, and trust, everything that matters in all of his father’s creations, in Dean’s eyes. He was wrong. Dean has not given up. Dean will never give up.

“So, Romeo,” Metatron says. “Let’s see how you look with your grace back on.”

“I. Can’t.” Castiel’s heart hammers inside his chest.

“Theoretically.” Metatron tightens his grip on Dean. “It’s never actually been attempted, now has it Castiel. All you need to do is open that tiny little bottle and accept your grace along with whatever may be the consequences for stealing another angel’s grace to begin with. What’s the worst that could happen? A little explosion, maybe? Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine.” He shrugs. “Well, me and the other angels will be fine. You will be all spattered about, I imagine. And I'm not so sure about Juliet here, or the brother. Humans are so frail.” He pulls the tip of the Spear down the side of Dean’s neck drawing a bloody line. “Or we can do this the hard way.”

“Wait, he wants you to restore your grace?” Sam says, confused, but moments after the words leave his mouth it appears to Castiel that Sam realizes what they had wrong, what Castiel had pieced together in the bar.

“Crowley lied,” Castiel says for Dean’s sake. “Once I retake my grace, the spell will be set and thereafter irreversible.”

“Don’t you do it, Cas!” Dean tries to yell through clenched teeth. He struggles against Metatron, but his arms are tied behind his back and he cannot get any leverage on his knees. “Don’t you fucking do it!”

He feels the heat inside him, what little remains of Theo’s grace beginning to boil, ripping at him from the inside out, igniting into a fire he knows he will be unable to control. He tosses the box holding his grace aside before his clenching fist destroys it, and he allows the rage to fill him. The lights begin to flicker and the bulbs in the overhead fixtures start to burst, one after the other.

“What is happening?” Metatron looks wide eyed at Castiel, then Sam.

“Consequences,” Sam says. He looks over at Dean and nods slightly, then straightens his back to ready himself for anything.


	17. Deliverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel attempts to free Dean and Sam without binding Metatron's spell. Theo's grace dwindles.

When Castiel had amnesia and lived for several months as Emmanuel, he was a compassionate, benevolent man who freely shared his God-given gift of healing. “I don’t feel like a bad person” he told Dean when questioned about whether his past may have been corrupt. When Castiel suffered the effects of taking on Sam’s psychological damage, he was a gentle, loving pacifist who communed with nature. “I don’t fight anymore,” he told Dean, who did not seem to understand that it was not a declaration of fear but of a desire to protect rather than harm. Those were times when Castiel was “not himself”, the Winchesters and others would say, but since being stripped of his grace, Castiel has recognized that at those times he was more himself than he had ever been before.

Now, voices are shouting to him, at him.  He does not know what they are saying, and they become more and more faint while the rumble from within him grows louder. He is filled with fury, he can feel it as if it is a tangible thing, an object that he cannot grasp, that he cannot control. His fist tightens around his weapon and he locks his gaze upon Dean, who is struggling to release himself from Metatron’s hold. Seeing Dean is calming, until Metatron tugs on Dean’s head and drags the Holy Lance across Dean’s face. Castiel burns inside and his vision blurs until he sees only white nothingness. He closes his eyes. Every muscle of his human body contracts, every cell expands, ripping at imaginary seams of his flesh. He is a perfect storm of wrath and vengeance and hate, ready to destroy the angel who has taken everything he has ever loved.

“No, Cas, no! Stop! Don’t!” Dean is screaming and Castiel hears him. “Control it. Please, Castiel. Come back. You always come back. Come back to me now!”

He opens his eyes and he can see again. Dean is still on his knees at Metatron’s feet, bleeding from his neck and face. Sam is flanked by the soldier angels, a blade held against his throat. The room is in complete disarray; overturned shelves lay on the ground, books and shattered glass are strewn across the floor, ruptured pipes spew liquids on the chaotic mess.

Castiel’s chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. He glares at Metatron, who has moved behind Dean, using him as a shield, holding the Spear against Dean’s chest.

“You never cease to amaze, Castiel. ” Metatron’s gaze shifts to Castiel’s left and his lips curl slowly into a smile. “You truly are magnificent. But now, my second in command has joined us, so I have to give up on you. You will never be obedient again.”

“Gadreel?” Sam says. He looks uncertain, unsure of where Gadreel’s allegiance lies.

“Cas, behind you!” Dean yells, eyes wide with fear.

“Gadreel.” Metatron nods at the angel then yanks Dean up to a standing position and pulls him against him. “Back in your old vessel, I see. It’s been a little rough without my second in command. I had to recruit some help.”

Gadreel steps slowly toward the Scribe and reaches out with one hand as he gets closer. “Allow me to handle this one.” An angel sword slides into his other hand. “Don’t desecrate the Holy Lance with Winchester blood.”

“What?” Sam shouts. “Gadreel, don’t touch my brother!” He tries to move toward Dean but the angels by his side hold him back.

Castiel stays fixed in position as he surveys the scene before him. Metatron stands behind Dean with both arms wrapped around him, the Spear pushed up against Dean’s rib cage. Sam and the soldier angels are several feet away. Castiel remembers holding the holy relic, recalls the rough edges of the spearhead, the primitive but fine craftsmanship, the weight of it in his hands. He had believed for several moments that he could do good with it, that he could save lives and change the world with it. Now it is poised to take a life and to change his world. He draws his brows together and concentrates on the Lance, willing it to do no harm.

Dean’s eyes dart between Castiel, Sam, and Gadreel, until he visibly relaxes, as if he has made a decision. “Do it, Cas,” Dean says calmly. “Kill me. You have to do it. It’s the only way, and it has to be you.”

“No,” Sam says. “What are you doing Dean?”

“Kill me, Cas,” Dean says again, this time louder. “I get it now. That’ll reverse the spell, right? Do it. Kill me now, before this douchebag does, and reverse the spell.”

"Well, now you've left me no choice," Metatron says as he raises the Spear over Dean. It begins to glow bright hot in his hand and he flinches then releases it. Dean kicks it away once it hits the ground, then spins around quickly and knocks Metatron off of his feet with a sweeping kick. Castiel lunges at Metatron while he is down and sinks his sword deep into his chest. He holds it there for a moment, watches Metatron’s body go limp beneath his blade before he pulls it out.

Castiel jumps to his feet and wrenches around in time to see Gadreel thrust an angel blade into one of Sam’s captors. The angel falls forward, into Gadreel, and manages to slice into his chest. They both go down, tangled together, and Sam, now free, grabs the angel recruit’s weapon.

Castiel looks around frantically for Dean and Metatron’s other angel. He spots them too far away, and Castiel tries to get there with a thought but the grace in his body fails to transport him. Dean’s hands are still tied behind him, and he backs away as the angel soldier advances on him. Castiel rushes to him, throws himself in front of Dean as the angel launches herself at them. Castiel strikes out wildly with his own weapon and braces himself for a blow when he is knocked to the floor from behind.

“No! No! Dean, no!” Castiel hears Sam scream. He rolls over quickly and sees Sam stab the angel through the back of her neck. Dean drops to his knees in front of Castiel, and Castiel catches him before his body hits the ground. Dean slumps against him, his head flops on Castiel’s shoulder. “That was close,” he mumbles into Castiel’s neck.  

Sam stands above them, his mouth open in shock.

“Release him,” Castiel yells to him. “Sam, cut these bindings.”

Sam reacts with a jerk, then drops to the ground behind Dean’s back and slices through the rope.

“Why Dean, why?” Castiel says.

“Angel blade.” Dean says in between breaths. “I’m not an angel.”

Castiel carefully lays Dean down on the ground. Sam removes his jacket and folds it into a pillow, places it under his brother’s head as Castiel assesses Dean’s injury. He pulls Dean’s shirt up to find a single wound to his lower abdomen. It is bleeding heavily, and Castiel reaches out and places his open hand directly above it, but he is unable to heal it. He tries again, this time with his hand on Dean’s skin, but he feels nothing inside him; no stirring or buzzing or humming. Theo’s grace is gone.

“No,” Castiel moans loudly. “No, no, no. Not now. Not now.”  He looks at the hand that has failed to heal Dean, covered in blood.  He feels helpless, powerless to save the man he loves and forsaken by his angel family and absent Father.  

“Gadreel?” Sam says. “Gadreel can do it.” He jumps up and runs over to where Gadreel lies several feet away from them. Gadreel is awake. He holds his hand on top of the incision that runs lengthwise across his chest in a futile attempt to keep the grace and light from leaking out of his vessel.

“I, I can’t,” Gadreel says. “I am sorry Sam.”

“My grace!” Castiel yells to Sam suddenly, then points to the box he had tossed aside. “Sam, bring me my grace.”

Dean reaches up and grabs Castiel’s arm. “No, Cas, don’t.”

“It’s the only way I can heal you.”

“Then the angels will never go back. Then Metatron wins.”

“I don’t care,” Castiel says.

“I do,” Dean says, and his voice is much softer now, more difficult to understand.

“You are more important than angels.”

“I’m begging you. If you love me, Cas…” Dean stops mid-sentence to bite back the pain.  

Castiel hesitates for a moment. His eyes are wet and he feels the familiar lump in his throat. He finds it difficult to speak, but forces himself to and the words come out broken and rough. “Then what would you have me do?”

“Just stay with me,” Dean says.

Dean struggles to keep his eyes open.  Castiel touches his face lightly, runs his fingertips along Dean’s jaw, across his lips and cheek. “You promised there was more,” he says. “So much more you said.  Remember Dean?  We haven’t watched Star Wars yet, or had a holiday or a birthday or the Fourth of July, or…”

Dean tries to smile. “You heard me."

"Yes."  Castiel nods. “I heard it all.  Dean, I need you. I need you with me here, on earth. Please let me heal you.”

“No.” Dean turns to Sam who is on his other side. “Don’t let him, okay Sam? And help him be human. He’s still learning, so help him for me.”

Sam sucks in his bottom lip and nods. “I love you Dean.”

“I know,” Dean says.

“Castiel,” Gadreel calls out from across the room. “I have something for you. It will help.” He reaches into his pocket and removes a small, glowing vial.

Castiel stares at the bottle, stunned.

“It’s Abner’s grace.” Gadreel says. “He would want you to have it. He would want you to…” Gadreel stops, winces in pain and rolls to his side. “Save Dean. Save the angels. Take it.”

"Gadreel, you could use it to..."

"Take it, Castiel,"  Gadreel begs. "Please, take it."

Castiel goes to Gadreel and accepts the grace without another word.  He opens it and finds it needs no coaxing.  He breathes it in, through his mouth and his nose. He allows Abner’s grace to enter him, and he feels it spark as it flows through him. His body lights up and his eyes flash blue for several moments as the new grace fills him, warms him, finds its way into every part of him. He feels the difference between this foreign grace and Theo’s grace. Abner’s grace is righteous. Abner’s grace is good.

He returns to Dean and Sam, falls to his knees and pulls Dean onto his lap. He puts his lips to his forehead. “Dean,” he breathes. “Dean.”

“Keep saying it,” Dean whispers, and Castiel complies. “Dean,” he says as he places his hand on Dean’s wound. “Dean,” he says, and he feels the healing beneath his palm; the broken flesh closing up; the damaged muscles and organs, veins and arteries regenerating. “Dean,” he says, and he smiles down at him, then looks up at Sam.

“You’re okay.” Sam swipes his hand across his eyes, and forces a smile. “Thank God.”

Dean pulls himself up to a sitting position and faces Sam. “Hey, Sammy, there’s something I want to tell you.  Something I should have told you the other day when we were fighting, something I should have been telling you all along. Something I shouldn’t need a reason to tell you at all.”

“What’s that Dean?”

Dean stalls for a moment, then spits out the words. “I love you.”

“Yeah,” Sam smirks. “I know.”


	18. Martyrs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and the Winchesters debate what action should be taken next regarding Metatron's spell.

“So let me get this straight. You’re telling me that Gadreel wasn’t Dr. Evil after all?” Dean waves his hand at Sam. “He killed Kevin.”

Sam squats down beside Gadreel and regards the lifeless vessel laid out before him. “He was following orders. He killed his, uhm, friend too. A close friend. Abner. He didn’t want to, but he was ordered to.”

“By Metatron,” Dean says.

“Yes,“ Sam says. “Angels are designed to follow orders, right Cas?”

Castiel nods.

“Huh.” Dean rests his hands on his hips, then looks at Castiel. “Angels are totally fucked up, man. Your dad must’ve really done a number on you guys.”

Castiel responds with a huff. “Let’s not talk about fathers, Dean.”

Sam continues. “They don’t really choose for themselves, but Gadreel wanted to. He tried to. I remember that from when he was, you know, in me. I think that’s why he brought Cas back when that Reaper killed him. No one told him to. No one asked him to. He wasn't following orders. He just did it. For you, Dean.”

“Yeah, well Cas makes his own choices.”

“He didn’t always, you know that. Cas has killed tons of people. And angels.”

“I’m right here,” Castiel sighs.

“Cas is different.” Dean says with resolution.

“I know he is. Of course he is. I’m just saying, maybe Gadreel was too. He finally made his own decision, and it saved your life Dean.” Sam places his hand over Gadreel’s, then pats it fondly. 

Dean rolls his eyes and frowns. “He hijacked you for months, Sam. For months. And now you’re his biggest fan?”

“He saved your life Dean. Mine too. So yes, I am.”

Dean folds his arms across his chest and nods. “Well I'm fucking starving,” he announces, changing the subject. “But first things first. Cas, how’s that new grace working?’

Cas holds out his hands and examines them. “Very well. The assimilation is nearly complete. It feels quite comfortable.”

“So you can heal and fly and mojo with it until you can put yours back in?”

“Yes, Dean, but I cannot put mine 'back in’ as you say. I am not sure how I would go about doing that, and in any event, it can’t be done until the angels are able to return to heaven.”

“Right,” Dean says. “So we’ve just gotta reverse the spell.”

Sam stands as he looks around the room.  “And we are back at square one.” 

Dean makes a face.  “No we’re not. We know how to reverse the spell.”

“No Dean.” Castiel turns away from Dean and sees Metatron's body on the floor among the dislodged books and shattered glass, the burned shadow of his wings spread out across the length of the room. Castiel is now the only winged angel left. He is the only angel who can fly and it saddens him.

“Let’s just do it now, okay? Get it over with and then we can all go out and get some damn food.” Dean is adamant. Castiel knows that when he gets an idea in his head, he does not let go of it.

“You are like a dog with a bone,” Castiel says, and both Winchesters look at him and say nothing.

“Did I say that wrong?” he asks.

Dean’s face softens with affection. “You used a metaphor. That was perfect Cas. You’re really starting to pick the human stuff up. Hey, maybe later when we get back home we can go over some other human stuff that I think…”

Sam interrupts Dean by clearing his throat loudly. “I'm still here guys,” he says, flapping his hand at them.  "And technically, it was a simile."

"What?" Dean scrunches his face.

"What Cas said.  It was a simile."

"What?" Dean repeats.

"Never mind," Sam says.

Castiel glares at Sam with squinted eyes.

“So Cas, let’s get the ball rolling,” Dean says, after Sam hangs his head. “Maybe we can get these bastards all winged-up and on their way to home base by nightfall. Sound good?”

“Are you kidding Dean?” Sam says.

“No, I’m not kidding. It makes perfect sense. You want these angels to stay down here Sam? They’re gearing up for all out war. A giant dick war on our turf. Does that sound like a fucking problem to you Sam?”

“Yes,” Sam concedes.

“'Cause it sounds like a big fucking problem to me.” Dean turns to Cas. “Let me do this. You’ve died for me, what? At least twice. It’s my turn to die for you.”

“Dean.” Castiel shakes his head.

“It will work,” Dean assures him. “You kill me. Spell gets reversed, and then you just, you know, bring me back. Easy Peasy.”

“Am I the only one who sees how fucked up this whole conversation is?” Sam says.

“I can’t let you do that.” Castiel wants to grab Dean and shake the martyr out of him, but he can’t because Dean is making very valid points.

Dean shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”

“It _is_ a big deal. What if I can’t bring you back?”

“Now you’re just making excuses,” Dean says. “You’ve got a brand new, barely been used grace. That’s not the issue and you know it.”

Castiel does know it. He is sure he has the power to bring Dean back. But he cannot bring himself to kill him. Not for the angels, not for any reason. “Then you must understand why I can’t Dean.”

“Then do it for _me_ , Cas.”

“You want me to kill you for you?”

“Yes,” Dean takes a long breath and exhales loudly. “I want some peace for a while. I want to relax, maybe even take a vacation. I want to read a few good books, watch a few good movies, have a few beers, eat pie whenever I want to and never, ever have a salad if I can help it. And I want to do all those things with you, Cas.”

“I told you,” Sam says to Castiel smugly.

“So bring those long, magical, fingers of death over here and zap me on the forehead or whatever you need to do because if I die from starvation, which is about to happen here, that won’t reverse the spell.”

“It does make sense Cas,” Sam says. “If you are sure you can bring him back.”

“See Cas? Even my brother wants you to off me, although maybe not for the same reasons.”

Sam groans. “Not funny Dean.”

Castiel cannot believe he is considering this. “I cannot believe I am considering this,” he says, but before he makes a final decision he feels something, he hears something. His name. Someone is calling his name.

“I have to go,” he says.

Dean throws up his hands. “Son of a bitch!” he says and it is the last thing Castiel sees and hears before he makes his way toward Heaven.


	19. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel goes to Heaven and does not return alone. Metatron's spell is reversed. Dean takes an unexpected trip.

For humans, Heaven is a belief, a promise, a destination; the eternal reward for a life lived well. For Castiel, Heaven was home. For a very long time it was the only home he knew, and he is disheartened to see the desolation left by the angels' absence. Yes, he has a new home now, but the Heaven of his memories was a wondrous place; luminous, vast and majestic, his brothers and sisters all glorious in their incorporeal forms. Now the dreariness overwhelms him, the emptiness suffocates him, and Castiel is suddenly consumed by the grief and guilt that he had managed to set aside for so long in order to survive.

“Forgive me,” he cries out and sinks to the ground. He covers his face with his hands as he kneels before nothing, no one. “I didn’t know. I didn’t want this. I never wanted this.”

Castiel feels the light before he sees it. He wants to look up, but he is afraid to. The light becomes brighter as it slowly moves closer, until it is finally and all at once in front of him, next to him and behind him. He is surrounded by it, and it soothes him. His fear melts away, replaced by comfort, peace, and love.

“Stay brave, Castiel,” the voice says. “Your journey has only just begun, my son.”

 

The Winchesters sit on the basement floor across from one another.  Sam’s long legs are crossed in front of him while Dean’s are folded at the knees and pulled up toward his chest. For them, it has been only a few minutes since Castiel left.

Dean looks up when Castiel appears. “I told you he’d be right back,” he chides Sam, then notices the brown paper bag in Castiel’s hand. “That had better be food.”

Castiel hands Dean the bag. “It is, Dean. Your body is low on nutrients.”

A grin lights up Dean’s face and Castiel finds it contagious. “That’s my boy,” Dean says as he rips into the bag and looks inside. “Wait. What the hell is this Cas?”

“I believe it is called a power snack.” Castiel says proudly. “Water, almonds, bananas, and apples. There’s enough for you too Sam.”

“Hey, thanks Cas,” Sam says.

Dean snarls at the bag. “Really Cas? You zapped out to get me food and this is what you come back with? It’s like I don’t even know you, man.”

Castiel sighs. “Dean, I did not leave to get you food. I went to Heaven.”

Dean hops up to his feet and Sam does the same. “You were just in Heaven?”

“Yes Dean.”

“ _The_ Heaven?”

“Yes, Dean.”

Dean lays his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, squeezes. “Hey, are you okay, buddy? Was it bad?”

“It was quite unsettling at first, but I’m okay, Dean.” Castiel assures him.

Dean pulls Castiel into his chest and wraps both arms around him. Castiel has missed Dean more than he knew he could. He revels in the bristly feel of Dean’s unshaven face against his own. He relaxes into Dean’s touch, grateful that Dean gives it freely now, that he is able to accept it. They remain silently bound to one another until Sam speaks.

“Uh, guys? Looks like we have company.”

Dean lets go of Castiel and protectively steps in front of him. The middle-aged man standing casually a few feet away wears a chef’s jacket and glasses.

“He just appeared,” Sam says.

“Whoa, yes, dudes,” the man interjects, laughing. “I definitely called it. It’s about time.”

“He’s, he’s an angel?” Dean stammers. “There’s another angel. Another angel with angel wings?”

“No shit, Dean,” the chef angel says.

“You know me?” Dean turns to Castiel. “He knows me?”

“Hey, Kevin,” Sam says.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “Kevin?”

“Yeah. Cas helped me find this meatsuit. Slim pickings out there these days as far as vessels go, but I don’t really plan on staying, so.”

“But how…”

“Does it matter, Dean?” Kevin says.

“I guess not.” Dean shakes his head, then bites his lip. “Listen, Kevin, I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I fucked up. I failed you. And Sam, and Cas too for that matter. Shit, I failed everyone. The whole famiIy. I was supposed to protect you, and…” Dean drops his chin, shakes his head. “And I didn’t.”

“I know Dean,” Kevin says. “It’s whatever.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “It’s whatever? That’s it? I got you killed, Kevin! Dead. And it’s whatever?”

“Yeah.” Kevin shrugs. “I mean, it sucked and all, but this new gig is going to be all kinds of awesome.”

“New gig?” Sam asks.

“Hey Cas, you think it’s ok if I tell them?”

“Yes, Kevin,” Castiel stands beside the new angel. “I am sure He won’t mind.”

Kevin’s pale, ruddy, and unfamiliar face beams. “I am going to be the personal assistant to the greatest celebrity of all time.”

“Who?” Sam and Dean ask in unison.

“God.”

Dean’s eyes narrow while Sam’s go wide.

“And we are going to re-write angel history,” Kevin adds.

“Can you do that?” Sam asks.

Kevin and Castiel share an amused look. “Duh, Sam. It’s God,” Kevin says.

Sam claps his hands. “Of course. Okay, then. That’s good, right?”

Dean turns to Castiel. “So He’s really back?”

“Yes.” Castiel speaks while he sorts through some of the debris. “And it is good, Sam. He is going to repair Heaven and the angels, once we break the spell. With our help and some time, Heaven will again be the home I remember. A little different maybe, but better I believe.”

“That sounds just great.  I'm happy for you, Cas,” Dean says quietly, his eyes lowered. “All right then. Let’s do it.”

“First, things first,” Kevin says. “Have you got it Cas?”

“Yes, here it is.” Castiel removes his coat, picks up the Spear of Destiny and wraps it in the tan fabric. “This belongs in Heaven, not here.” He hands the Lance to Kevin.

“Yeah, it does,” Kevin agrees. “And so does this.” Kevin steps over the wreck and kneels down beside Gadreel. He places both of his hands over the gash on Gadreel’s chest. Light and energy flow from his hands, closing the wound. Gadreel opens his eyes slowly.

“Did he just heal and bring back an angel?” Sam points at Gadreel, who has pulled himself up and sits beside Kevin. “I thought you guys couldn’t do that.”

“No, we can’t,” Castiel says. “Well, not under normal circumstances.”

“Nothing is ever normal about our circumstances,” Dean snorts.

“Kevin is doing God’s work,” Castiel explains. “He has a special assignment.”

“So would you say he is on a mission from God?” Dean chuckles at his reference.

“He did it,” Gadreel says to Kevin. “Thank God.”

Castiel holds his hand out to Gadreel and helps him stand. “You will get that opportunity shortly.”

“I must apologize, Prophet.” Gadreel’s contrition is all over his face, in his voice. “I was mistaken about many, many things.”

Kevin nods. “Yeah, He knows. We can all chat about it when we get home.”

Dean holds up his hand. “Wait. Who did what now?”

“Gadreel had Crowley burn Kevin’s body while we were busy with Metatron,” Castiel explains.

Dean throws both arms up. “Crowley? Are you kidding me?”

“When Sam told me where Kevin's body was being kept, I knew I could not get there in time to release his soul.  So I called upon Crowley, who owed me a favor.  He told me he had been to the cabin before,” Gadreel says. “He said it was when Castiel was a daft ball of fur and Dean was all caught up in getting Dick.”

Sam laughs. “That’s pretty accurate.”

“Shut up,” Dean snaps at Sam, then turns to Gadreel. “Yeah well his tablet translation wasn’t. He tried to screw us. Again.”

“King of Hell, Dean,” Kevin reminds him.

“He had an explanation for that,” Gadreel says. “He said that if he hadn’t changed it, you two crazy kids would kill each other just to reverse the spell. Once he figured out that Castiel did not have his own grace, he knew he would not have been able to bring you back.”

“So he’s saying he did it to protect Cas and me?”

"So it would seem.” Gadreel nods.

Dean crosses his arms. "Well I'm not buying it."

"I don't know Dean,” Sam says carefully. "He's not the same anymore. I think the human blood has really changed him."

Dean shoots Sam a dirty look, then waves Castiel over to him. "C’mon Angel, Let's get this show on the road."

Castiel takes a moment to comprehend what Dean has said, then goes to him.  "All right Dean. Perhaps we should sit, to avoid a fall."

"Yeah, yeah sure." Dean lowers himself to the floor and Castiel follows. Castiel raises his hand and reaches for Dean's head. "Wait" Dean says, grabbing hold of Castiel's wrist. He puts his other hand behind Castiel's neck and pulls him into a kiss.

The kiss is soft and shallow and wet, their lips barely parted, only the tips of their tongues touching. It’s more of a proposition than a kiss, Castiel thinks, a promise of things to come, and he cannot wait for those things.

"Wow, dudes. When you come out, you come all the way out,” Kevin says.

Castiel and Dean both ignore him. When Dean pulls away from Castiel, he wears a mischievous grin. "Okay. I can die now.”

Castiel places two fingers to Dean’s forehead and he immediately collapses into his waiting arms. Castiel pulls him close, settles him upright between his legs, Dean’s back against his chest.

"He'll be okay right?" Sam asks nervously.

"He's not dead Sam." Castiel folds his arms around Dean’s body.

"Not dead?" Sam bends down and feels Dean’s pulse at his neck. "But I thought..."

"Like I keep telling you, it's God, Sam.  There’s no spell so great that even God can’t reverse it," Kevin chirps.

"Right, of course.” Sam nods. “Then where is Dean?  What’s going on here, Cas?"

Castiel closes his fingers around Dean’s hands. "He is on a visit."

"Meeting the in-laws," Kevin scoffs.

Sam’s jaw drops. "Oh my God.”

Castiel offers a rare, broad smile. "Yes. Exactly, Sam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We're on a mission from God" is a quote from the 1980 movie The Blues Brothers.


	20. Divinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and the Winchesters return to the bunker. Dean's trip to Heaven has an unexpected effect on him.

It’s nice to be back in the Impala. Castiel used to find travel in motor vehicles to be tedious and unnecessary, but tonight he has found a new appreciation for its tranquilizing effects while he sits shotgun to an unusually pensive Dean.  Sam slumps to one side behind him, having insisted that he take the back seat because he needed to rest.

Dean has said very little since he came back from his celestial trip, and Castiel is not sure what to make of it. Castiel used Abner's grace to bring them back to the bunker.  Once there, they immediately took the Impala to a diner, which served to satisfy Dean's hunger but did not make him any more talkative.

Now they return to the bunker in silence. Castiel hangs his arm out of the window and feels the wind rush between his fingers. Dean glances at him occasionally, and Castiel thinks he detects the slightest upturned lip, a stifled ghost of a smile. When they arrive at the bunker, Dean stops the car short of the garage entrance.

“I think I’m gonna go for a drive.” His announcement is the most words in a row that Dean has spoken since they left Kevin and Gadreel at the bookstore basement in Washington.

Sam leans forward and pats Castiel on the shoulder before he slides out of the car. Castiel watches Sam and decides to not look at Dean. If Dean needs time alone, he will let him have it. He wants to ask him what happened during his visit upstairs that has caused this quiet melancholy, but at the same time, he knows how humbling Heaven can be.  Dean surely has much to contemplate right now, and Castiel is certain that Dean will talk to him about it when he is ready.

Castiel jolts out of the car without a word and catches up with Sam. It is not until they are closing the bunker door behind them that he hears the Impala wheels spin.

“Hey, Cas, do you want to borrow some clothes?” Sam asks.

Castiel holds out his arms and looks down at his attire. “Should I?”

Sam chuckles. “Yes, actually. Something more comfortable. Some jeans and a t-shirt?”

Castiel defers to Sam’s judgment on the matter of clothing. “All right then.  If you think it wise."

“Okay, cool. I’ll get you something of Dean’s. His stuff will fit you better.”

Sam leaves Castiel for a few minutes and returns with the clothing as well as a blanket and bed pillow. He lays the blanket and pillow on the couch and hands the folded clothes to Castiel. “Look, I’m not sure what the sleeping arrangements are going to be, so maybe you should just crash here for tonight. Or at least until Dean gets home.”

“Thank you Sam, but I am not tired.” Castiel removes his shoes, then begins to unabashedly strip himself of his suit.

Sam looks up and away. “I’m, uh, going to go ahead and hit the sack. Is that okay Cas?”

“Yes Sam, it’s…” Castiel stops mid-sentence, then leans into Sam. “You mean go to bed, right?”

Sam laughs. “Yes. That’s what I mean.”

“Then yes, of course Sam. Sleep well.”

“G’night, Cas,” Sam says, then leaves Castiel to finish changing. Dean’s pants are a little too big, and the long sleeved t-shirt hangs loosely on his shoulders, but Sam was right, his body is more at ease dressed this way.  Wearing these garments reminds him of his short time as a human, when he wore items he was given at various shelters, most of which never fit properly, but kept him suitably clothed. He appreciated the generosity of those who donated the items he received, and he wondered why so many people discarded perfectly good clothing.

Castiel sits on the couch beside the pillow. He is restless, and is trying out various sleeping positions when he hears a noise, looks up, and sees Dean.

“Are those mine?”

Castiel rubs his chest.  He feels the tension leave his body when he hears Dean speak. "Yes. Sam gave them to me to wear. They are very comfortable Dean.”

“You look like Steve,” Dean says.

Castiel hesitates. “Is that good Dean?”

Dean nods. “I liked Steve. Plus he was pretty good-looking. Even with the vesty thing.”

“Why are you back so soon?” Castiel asks.

“I forgot something."  Dean strides into the room towards Castiel.  "You.”

Castiel stands to meet him. “I thought you wanted to be alone.”

“I do. I want to be alone with you. Or Steve. Whichever one is willing to go for a ride with me.”

“Oh. I see.” Castiel steps in front of Dean, into the area Dean defines as his personal space. “I think _I_ will go with you, Dean, if that’s all right.”

“Let me get you some sneakers,” Dean says, and disappears down the hall.

 

“Where are we going Dean?” Castiel asks from the passenger seat of Dean's baby.

“Store.  We need some things.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Castiel is concerned that Dean is wide awake after all he has been through. “It’s been a very long day.  You really should try to sleep.”

“Well, you try sleeping after you just took a trip to Heaven and talked to you know who.”

Castiel sighs.

Dean tries to look at Castiel and the road at the same time. “Can I ask you about Steve?”

“Please watch the road,” Castiel admonishes and Dean obeys. “Steve was me, Dean. You can ask me anything.”

“What was his last name?”

Castiel feels his face flush. He recognizes the emotion as embarrassment, something he felt often when he was Steve, and although it stings less here with Dean, he has little understanding as to why he feels it. “I, I don’t remember.”

Dean’s brows draw up. “Was it Winchester?”

“I would not be so presumptive.”

“Novak?”

“It was Dean,” Castiel blurts. “Steven James Dean.”

“Like the actor? James Dean?”

Castiel cants his head toward Dean. “I have no idea who that is. It was James as in my vessel’s name, and Dean as in you.”

Based on the smug look on his face, Dean is satisfied with Castiel’s response. He pulls into a late-night super store, guides Castiel over to an aisle full of calendars, and tells him to choose one. He leaves Castiel for a short while, and Castiel waits patiently in the aisle with the chosen calendar in hand. When Dean returns with a six-pack in hand, he drags Castiel over to the bakery area, looks through the pies, but does not find what he wants.

Castiel tries to assist. “What are you looking for Dean?”

“Apple pie.” Dean starts tossing the pies aside in frustration. “They don’t have any apple pie.”

“Let’s get this one.” Castiel points to a pecan pie.

Dean’s eyes go wide as he shakes his head. “It has to be apple Cas. It has to be. It was apple. It was apple and…” he stops and looks at Castiel. “Trust me. It has to be apple.”

The apple pie seems to be very important to Dean right now, and Castiel wants to help him. “At the Gas-n-Sip, we had pies that were frozen, and you could purchase them, take them home, and bake them in your own oven.”

Dean grabs Castiel’s face in his hands and plants a kiss on his forehead. “You're a genius,” he says, then takes his hand in his as they make their way to the frozen foods.

 

They try to be quiet when they return to the bunker. They have not only the pie, beer, and a calendar, but also a large flat television that is not particularly heavy but comes in a large box and is awkward to get down the stairs.

Dean hooks up the television while Castiel puts the pie in the oven. Dean ignites the pilot light for him, since Castiel knows nothing about ovens and Dean has insisted that Castiel save his mojo and they try to do things the “regular way”.

It’s nearly one in the morning of a new day when they go to sit by the television with pie and beer in hand. Dean scrutinizes the room, checking every detail, adjusting the beer bottles on the coffee table, as if arranging a scene. He prods Castiel to move over on the sofa so that he is seated on his left side.

"I don’t understand what you are doing,” Castiel scoots down the length of the couch. “Does it really matter where the bottle or magazines are?”

“Good. It’s good now,” Dean says, then leans back against the sofa cushion and swings his arm around Castiel. “Now put your head in my lap,” Dean motions toward his crotch.

Castiel crumples his face. “Really Dean? I though we were going to eat pie and watch a movie first? And Sam could come out at any time and…”

Dean rolls his eyes. “No, Cas. That’s not what I mean. Rest your head on my lap, like it’s a pillow.” He nudges Castiel’s hips. “Put your feet up on the couch.”

Castiel frowns but does as he is asked and as soon as his head settles against Dean's pelvis, he feels a sense of familiarity; déjà vu.

“Perfect,” Dean says after positioning Castiel the way he wants him, then reaches for his beer with one hand and strokes Castiel’s hair with the other. “Comfy Cas?”

“I am,” Castiel says. “This is very nice, and it feels very familiar Dean. We’ve never done this before, but it feels like we have. Have we? Perhaps Naomi wiped my memory of this?”

“Nah, I don’t think so, Cas.” Dean looks down at Castiel. “When I went to Heaven, I met your Dad.  Well, I heard him, didn’t really see him.”

“No one can, Dean.”

“But I also got to see some of my heaven. And this was it. Me and you on the couch, like this, with pie. Apple pie.”

Castiel tries to pull himself up, but Dean lays his hand on his shoulder and holds him down. “No, don’t move. Don’t ruin it Cas.”

“You don’t have to stage your heaven,” Castiel says. “It would have happened one of these days. He showed you a part of your heaven based on a memory you hadn’t made yet. I believe it would have come to pass eventually, Dean, on its own. Without manipulating it.”

“But when, Cas? When would it happen?” Dean takes a long swig from his bottle then plants it on the end table with a thud. “You are going to be gone soon with your fixing Heaven business, and then who knows when we would have the opportunity. Who knows when it would happen, or if it ever would.”

“Dean,” Castiel says.

“I can't risk it Cas. I like that heaven. I want that heaven. And once you shish-bam-boom out of here, we may never get the chance.”

“I told you I will always come back to you Dean…”

“I know. But sometimes it takes you a long-ass time, Cas, and things can happen, things _do_ happen in the meantime. It’s hard to be the one waiting. It’s hard to be the one not knowing. I don't want to die without this memory, so please, let me do this.”

Castiel pushes himself up and faces Dean. “Let me finish, Dean. I told you I will always come back, and I meant that, but I am not going anywhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“My intentions are to stay here with you, if that’s all right.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but when they do, Dean's repose is marked with a long, shaky exhale.

"Yes, yes, of course it's all right Cas.  It's more than all right. But you said you were going to help God re-do Heaven. And I saw it, Cas. I saw your part of Heaven, the angels' part. He showed me how it used to be, and it was…well, there are no human words for it.” Dean looks down at his empty hands. “I don’t know why anyone would want to be _here_ when they could be _there_.”

Castiel pushes himself up to a kneeling position, brushes the fingers of his hand down the line of Dean’s jaw, then cups his chin. “What else did my Father tell you?”

Dean looks up at Castiel. “He said I could be happy.” Dean speaks quietly. “He said that I deserve it and so do you. He called you by name, said you were the one he got right. He said that it was never intended, but our happiness somehow became intertwined, our lives woven together by choice, and because of that, our union is more divine than anything the cupids are able to conceive.”

“Do you see Dean?” Castiel smiles, sits back on his heels. “We were right all along. My Father, He believes in free will too.”

“Well that’s good to know. For future reference.”

Castiel bites his lip and nods. “Dean, do you remember when I was human and the Reaper stabbed me?”

“I couldn’t forget it if I tried, Cas.”

“I had forgotten until now, but I saw my heaven then, Dean, when I died. Just for a few moments.”

“Was it as beautiful as it was before the spell?”

“It wasn’t that Heaven. It wasn’t the home I remembered. It was something better.”

“What was it?” Dean asks.

“It was not a memory, but a vision.” Castiel lays his head on Dean’s shoulder. “It was this.  It was exactly this.”


	21. Surname

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean decide to make some more memories.

“You could have used Winchester.”

Castiel and Dean have relocated their memory making efforts to Dean’s bedroom. They make the first memory there quickly and urgently up against the closed bedroom door while both are still, for the most part, clothed. They make the second memory shortly after that, half on and half off of the all-too-aptly named memory foam mattress (“I told you Cas, it’s made for this!”). And if Dean’s mouth continues on its current path, Castiel will be ready to make a third memory very soon.

“What?” Castiel barely exhales the single syllable.

“I said you could have used Winchester.” Dean’s voice comes from somewhere between Castiel’s thighs. “When you were Steve.”

The guttural sound Castiel manages to grunt is caused more by Dean’s tongue than his words.

“Can you repeat that?” Dean teases a line of gentle, wet kisses along the fold of Castiel’s groin. “I didn’t quite get that.”

Castiel takes several shallow breaths before he puts a sentence together. “ _You_ don’t even use the name Winchester, Dean,” he pants. “Why would I?”

Dean bares his teeth and nips at the soft, smooth skin beneath his lips. Castiel jerks up, tries to close his legs, but Dean’s grip keeps them in place on either side of his head and shoulders.

Castiel leans back on his elbows and feigns displeasure. “No biting Dean. Is that what you want in our heaven?”

“Wouldn’t mind some kinky shit.” Dean raises one eyebrow and looks up into Castiel’s frown. “As long as it’s tastefully done,” he adds.

Castiel nudges Dean with his knee and Dean gets back to work. “I just kinda like the way it sounds,” Dean says. “Castiel Winchester.”

“Really?” Castiel closes his eyes to think about it, but Dean has now gotten his fingers involved too and Castiel just can’t. “Castiel Winchester?” he finally groans.

“Yeah.” Dean draws a sloppy line of spit to his mark and lingers open-mouthed above it. “Castiel Winchester.”

“ _Dean_.” The warmth of Dean’s breath on his damp flesh makes Castiel’s body tremble and curl helplessly, bowing up toward Dean’s taunting mouth. “I’m ready again. Now, Dean, now!”

“So I see, Cas.” Dean raises his head to look at Castiel’s face and flashes a lopsided grin before he swoops back down and focuses on making another memory for their heaven.

 

“Castiel Winchester.” Castiel lies on top of Dean, facing him, because that’s where they ended up and because Castiel likes being there. He enunciates each letter, every sound, slowly and thoughtfully, having recovered his ability to speak and think.

Dean wraps his arms around him, rests his hands on his naked buttocks and squeezes. “So, what do you think?”

“I think I like it, Dean.”

“The name or my hands on your ass?”

“Both.” Castiel rolls off of Dean and lies on his side next to him, propped up on one bent arm.

“Okay. It’s settled then?” Dean asks.

“Settled.”

“From now on, your name is Castiel Winchester.” Dean says it as if it is an official announcement.

Castiel agrees with an exaggerated nod. “Except for purposes of identification cards and legal documents.”

“Right.” Dean says.

“Or passports. Or licenses.” Castiel’s tone is pragmatic.

“True.”

“And credit cards and insurance papers. Those too.”

Dean twists his mouth and pokes out his bottom lip. “Yeah, those too.”

“And badges.”

“Anything else?” Dean huffs and glares at Castiel.

“Yes.” Castiel inhales and continues. “For anything related to hunting we will be using whatever false names we have chosen for that particular case, so I will be unable to refer to myself as Castiel Winchester under those circumstances as well.”

Dean stares blankly at Castiel.

“But for everything else, I will be Castiel Winchester,” Castiel says proudly.

“You torpedoed that pretty well,” Dean hisses. “There really isn’t anything else left is there?”

“Yes Dean there is.” Castiel uses two fingers to lightly trace Enochian letters on Dean's chest. “Here. For us. I will be Castiel Winchester for us.”

Dean reaches up, slides his fingers into Castiel’s hair and grabs a handful. “Yeah. That’s what I meant, Cas. For us,” he says and with a swift tug their lips crush together and Dean kisses Castiel with the staunch enthusiasm of a man who is finally willing to be happy.


	22. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel, Sam, and Dean each make important decisions about their futures.

Castiel stands resolute with blade in hand. He examines the items set out before him and carefully selects one, rolls it around on the flat surface under his palm until it is positioned as he wants it, then plunges the knife into it, tearing through the flesh. The guts spill out onto the table, the whole of it destroyed nearly beyond recognition.  Castiel eyes it, disappointed, then reaches for another. 

With a raised hand, Sam signals Castiel to halt. “I may have overestimated your knife skills,” he says. “Here, let me show you.”  Sam takes the kitchen knife from Castiel’s hands. He selects a new tomato, places it on the cutting board, and slices slowly and gently through it. “See how I’m doing that Cas?”

Castiel nods, accepts the knife back, and tries again. This time he cuts the tomato into the bite-sized chunks that he wants, so he moves on to a carrot.  

There is something Castiel finds very fascinating about making a salad. He likes that he can make it with his own hands, that there is no set formula, that it can be different every time.  “You’re telling me I can put _anything_ in my salad? Anything I want?” he had asked Sam while they were at the grocery store earlier in the day.  Castiel found it very hard to believe.  Sam laughed and told him “Yeah, pretty much.  As long as it’s food.  It’s your choice, really.”   Castiel likes this idea.  To him, it is free will on a plate. 

When they each have their salads prepared, they sit together at the table to eat.

“When are you leaving, Sam?” Castiel asks.

Sam lowers his fork.  “Tomorrow, actually.”

“And Dean?”

“I’ll tell him tonight.  At dinner.” 

“Where will you go?” 

Sam continues eating and speaks with his mouth full. “South Dakota, up by Bobby's old place.  I’m going to Jody’s for a while.  Sheriff Mills.  She wants to learn how to be more of a hunter, and I want to learn how to be less of one.” Sam shrugs.  “We might be able to help each other out.” 

“I think that sounds nice, Sam.” Castiel tries but is unable to hide his disquiet.

“I promise I’m not abandoning him,” Sam offers.  “I’ll be in touch with you guys all the time. Phone, text, email, you name it. You’ll probably get sick of me.”

“We will like that, Sam."

“I’m not running, Cas. I’m just leaving.  There’s a difference.” 

“I understand.”  Castiel does understand.  He has done both, and he knows the difference.

“I’ve got stuff to work out too.  And Dean, he’ll be okay.  He’s got you now.”

“I’m not a replacement for you, Sam, I hope you don't think that.”  

“No, no. Not for a minute.  Honestly, Cas, Dean's been in love with you for years.  I know you’re not a substitute.  You’re more of a discovery.  A revelation.  A truth.”

Castiel pushes his fork around on his plate. “I have left my grace in Heaven,” he says.

Sam raises an eyebrow, curious. “What exactly does that mean?”

“I am not sure how long I will have Abner’s grace. It’s quite compatible and could last for many months, maybe even years, but when it is gone, I will be essentially human again.”

“Are you doing that for Dean?”

“I’m doing it for me.  Right now, I still seem to have my humanity.  My own grace would negatively affect that, to what extent I am not sure, but it would.  Now that I have felt, now that I feel so many things, well I..."  Castiel stops, thinks.  "Feeling is a human power that I no longer want to live without.”

“Are you sure, Cas?  It can work both ways.”

“I am sure, Sam.  I have experienced good and bad, but considering everything, both are better than little to no feelings at all.”

“Okay,"  Sam agrees.  "I get it.”

“For now, Abner’s grace will be useful.  We still have Crowley and Abaddon and all of Hell to deal with.  As soon as there is a new prophet I expect we will…”

“Isn't there already a new prophet?  I thought once Kevin died, another prophet would, you know, automatically kick in.”

“There were no prophets pending.”

“What about those people Crowley kidnapped? Weren’t they all future prophets?”

“Yes, they were at the time, but after the events with Crowley, they were all excused, so to speak.  A new prophet must be chosen, and that task has fallen upon Kevin Tran.”

“Kevin picks the new prophet?  Good luck with that!  It will probably end up being Mark Zuckerburg.”

Castiel laughs along with Sam, although he is not sure why as he has no idea who Mark Zuckerburg is.  Sam realizes this and attempts to explain.

"He's a famous nerd, Cas."

"Oh,"  Cas says with a nod.  "And what exactly is a nerd?"

“What’s so funny?”  Dean walks up behind Castiel, makes a sour face when he sees what he is eating. “Sam, what are you doing to him?”

“I am enjoying this salad,” Castiel says.  “You should try it.’

“No, and no.”

“But Dean, we can make it any way you want it. We can put anything that is food into it, right Sam?”

“Well…” Sam wavers.

“Can you put a bacon double cheeseburger into it?” Dean asks.

“Give it up, Cas.  It's useless."  Sam shakes his head.  

Castiel glances sideways at Sam then responds to Dean. “Yes we can.” 

“Huh.” Dean slaps Castiel on the back. “Okay then, Cas.  You make me one of those, and I will try it.”

Sam bites his lip and looks up at Dean.

“What?”  Dean holds out his hands.  “Don’t look at me like that.  It’s just a salad.”

“Right,” Sam says.  “Just a salad.”

 

Dean takes Sam’s news rather well.  Castiel knows he was expecting it and had resigned himself to it, even in some way, supported it.  The two brothers talk privately after dinner, and when Dean comes to bed, Castiel is waiting for him and he sees no anger, no resentment in him. Dean is, if anything, contemplative when he kicks off his shoes, strips down to his boxers and crawls under the covers beside Castiel. Castiel drops his book onto the nightstand and coils onto his side, facing him.

“Hey.” Dean’s fingers find the nape of Castiel’s neck, work their way gently into his hairline. “I love you Cas.”

He already knows it.  He never needed to hear it.  But now that he has, he feels things.  So many things.  Human things.  But mostly he feels proud of Dean.  Dean is a good man striving to be a better man, and that, Castiel believes, makes him the very best man Castiel has ever known.

“I love you too, Dean.”

 

Castiel dreams again of the waterfall.  The water is inviting, and Castiel wants to immerse himself in it, bathe in it.  Dean stands ahead of him, waving at him.  “Come on,” he says.  “We’re going in.”  Castiel reaches out and Dean takes his hand and leads him through the wall of falling water, to the other side.  Once there, the water is gone, and Castiel is alone with Dean, face to face without words. He is safe and secure; he is home.  ”This is the best part,” Dean says.

Castiel is awoken by a dull jab to the ribs. He sprawls on the couch with Dean, his head jammed into Dean’s underarm, Dean’s arm looped across his back and wrapped around his shoulder.

“This is the best part.”  Dean motions toward the television, beer in hand.  “I don’t know how you can fall asleep during Return of the Jedi. It’s almost blasphemy.”

Castiel rubs his eyes open further to see white teeth and pink lips inches away from his own.  “I had a dream,” he tells Dean. “About water.  Seems like they are always about water.”

“Oh yeah? Was I in it?”  The beautiful mouth curves up on one side.  “By that shit-eating grin on your face, I’m gonna assume that I was in it.”

Castiel has always enjoyed Dean’s cockiness. “Yes, you were. You and I were at a waterfall, and you beckoned to me to follow you. Then we walked through it together and emerged on the other…” Castiel closes his mouth when he is struck with a sudden awareness about his dreams, about the water in his dreams.  He thinks it through silently in his head, then mutters the result. “The water is my grace.” 

Dean has been distracted by something on the giant screen several feet away from them. “What did you say, Cas?”

“Tatooine,” Castiel says.  “Tatooine is Luke's home planet, correct?”

"That's right, Cas."  The grin on Dean's face is worth the deflection.  "You're catching on now, buddy."

Dean ruffles Castiel's hair then hands him a bottle of beer.  Castiel exchanges texts with Sam while they continue the Star Wars marathon.  He arrived in Sioux Falls safely, and Jody already has big plans for him.  The next message includes a photo of Sam in a deputy uniform.  Castiel laughs, and is showing it to Dean when a loud pounding on the bunker door startles them. 

“Expecting anyone?”  Dean asks rhetorically but Castiel answers with a shake of his head.  The banging continues, and they walk to the door together.  Dean peeks through the peephole, raises his eyebrows and swings the door open.

“What took you so long?”  Linda Tran grabs her suitcase, swings a zippered overnight bag over her shoulders and steps inside.

“You’re alive?" Dean says. "We thought you were dead.  We thought that Crowley had…”

“I gave him the slip,” she says.  “You think that second rate snake oil salesman can get the best of me?” 

“No.  I can’t imagine he could,” Dean says, head bowed.  “But Kevin’s not here Mrs. Tran.  I’m sorry, I’m very sorry but he’s…”

“I know.”  Her tone is unaffected.  “He told me about this, though.”  She waves her hand between the two of them.  “I approve.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks?” Dean says, unsure. “Did you actually _talk_ to Kevin?”

“Yes, of course.”  Linda Tran drops her suitcase and bag onto the floor, and Castiel can see she has slipped into proud mother mode. “My son is an angel. I always knew he was, but now, now he is God’s personal assistant.  Did you know that?  Screw Princeton!  Kevin is redesigning Heaven!”

“Yeah, well that’s all nice, I guess.  So, uh, why are you here then?  And why do you have,” Dean points to her bags, “those?”

“I may be here for a while.”  She unzips the smaller bag on the floor, reaches in and pulls out a stone tablet. 

Dean gulps while color drains from his face.  “That, that is a God tablet.  Where did you get that?”

“The Demon Tablet,” she corrects as she stuffs it back into her bag. “The angel Gadreel had it hidden.”

“What in the hell are you doing with the Demon tablet?” Dean bellows.

Castiel grabs Dean’s hand.  “Dean.” 

Linda Tran plants her hands on her hips and shakes her head.  “Dean Winchester.  Is that any way to speak to a prophet of the Lord?”

“Prophet?  She’s kidding, right?” Dean forces a laugh, until he sees Castiel shaking his head slowly, not at all amused.

“Welcome Mrs. Tran,” Castiel says warmly.

“Please.  You can call me Linda.”  She rubs Castiel’s arm affectionately while he picks up her suitcase and shoulder bag.

“Uh, Linda?  About staying here...” Dean starts.

“ _You_ can call me Mrs. Tran,” she interjects, pointing at Dean.

Castiel bites back a snicker while Dean remains still, shocked. “Welcome to our home. Right Dean?”

“Huh?  Yeah, yeah, sure.  Right Cas.”

Castiel leads Mrs. Tran down the hallway and with hands thrown in the air in defeat, Dean follows. 

 

Today is a very good day.  Linda Tran has made them lunch and they take a break from their research to eat together at the map table.

“Someone has a birthday coming up.”  Linda Tran’s eyes dart between the two men with delight.

Dean stretches his arms and leans back.  “Not mine.  Not Sam’s.”

“Castiel’s!”  Linda stands behind Castiel, lays her hands on his shoulders, and leans into his ear.  “I saw it on the calendar in the kitchen. How old are you going to be?” 

“I don't have an actual birthday,” he explains. “Certainly not in the human sense. It’s a day I have chosen, as Dean requested I do.”

“You finally did it?”  Dean sits up in his chair, interested. “Why didn't you tell me?  So when is it?  What day did you choose?”

“September eighteenth,” Castiel says.

Dean swallows hard.  “I know that date.”

“Yes.  It is the day that Dean Winchester was saved.”

Dean drops his head and smiles.  “Yeah.  That was a good day.”  Castiel does not miss the wobble of Dean’s jaw, the glimmer in his eyes.  “And now it’s a much better day.”  He slaps his hands on his thighs, the way he does when he has come to a decision.  “Cas, you are going to have your first ever birthday party.”

“All right.” Castiel finds the idea interesting, but wonders who they would actually invite to such a party.  “Who will we invite?”

“Well there’s you, me, and Mrs. Tran.  Sam and Jody will come.  And maybe we can get hold of Charlie and you can meet her.”

“I see,” Castiel says.

“In other words, just us.  It’s not quantity, it’s quality.”  Dean grabs a piece of paper and pen.  “So Mrs. Tran, are you in?  Wanna help me plan Cas’s first birthday party?”

“Absolutely,” she says.  “What kind of cake do you like Castiel?”

“I’m not sure,” Castiel says. "I've had cake at the shelters, but never really thought about it."

“He likes pie.”  Dean says.

“ _You_ like pie.” Linda corrects then turns to Castiel.  “Well we are going to have to find some of the things you like, won't we?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Castiel says.  “We have our hands full with the whole hell situation. Shouldn’t we just concentrate all of our efforts on that?”

“No,” Dean says sharply.  “ We’re not doing that anymore. We can do both, Cas.”  He slides his hand across the table and grasps Castiel’s hand.  “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think? You and me, and hopefully Sam too. We’re gonna live our lives now, not hope for the day we finally get to it.  Does that sound good to you Cas?”

“Yes Dean.  That sounds very good to me.” 

"Exactly,"  Linda Tran adds.  "You only live once, right?"

Castiel looks wide eyed at Dean, then bursts into laughter.  It's a raucous, infectious laughter that seems to involve all of Castiel's appendages, and Dean just watches, concentrates on Castiel for as many moments as he can before he succumbs to it himself.  They let themselves go for a minute or more, making strange, feral, happy sounds.  Dean pounds on the table with his free hand before they each suck in a few deep breaths and wind down.

Dean sighs and picks up the pen.  "Okay.  Back to the list.  What do you like?  Cake or pie, Cas?"

"The truth?"

Dean squeezes Castiel's hand.  "Only truth, Cas."

“Chocolate cake,” Castiel decides.  “I like chocolate cake.”

 


	23. Epilogue

He had never considered himself to be a lucky man. In fact, all evidence had been to the contrary. Yet when he looks at the angel who lies beside him in his bed, sleeping soundly and monopolizing the blankets, Dean thinks he may be the luckiest man of all.

They have a routine now, he and his - Cas. (He doesn’t know what to call him really, other than Cas. But there is no need for any other label, since “Cas” has come to mean everything that makes Dean who he is and who he wants to be.) It feels right, being together as they are.  He was surprised at how easy, how simple it was to tumble into this normalcy, and Dean acknowledges that he may have to rethink his position on the term “God works in mysterious ways.”

When they sit at the kitchen table together in the mornings, Cas with a creamy, sugary coffee and Dean with a bowl of cereal, Dean likes to look at Cas, likes to watch the shift of his facial muscles, the movement of his eyes. He notices the way Cas’s mouth moves up on one side only when he says certain letters; the bare spots beneath Cas’s thick lips where his beard grows sparse; the slanted droop of his lids over the intensity of blue that is Cas’s eyes. He wants to learn him, memorize him, just in case, because as far as he has come, as much as he has grown, there is still part of him that tells himself this is too good to be true.

He prays to Cas all the time now, more than he ever did before. He asks him to pick up things at the store, to bring him food from the kitchen. It annoys Cas sometimes, he knows. When Cas threw a bottle of beer at him and yelled “you can find another angel to answer your lazy prayers Dean Winchester!” he knew that he had crossed a line. But the days in which Cas can hear his prayers are numbered, and it is the one thing, the only thing that Dean will miss when Cas’s powers are gone.

Dean nudges Cas to wake him. “C’mon sleepyhead, let’s go out to breakfast,” he says because going out to breakfast has been identified by Cas as one of the things he “really, really likes to do.” Cas responds instantly, and they are up, dressed, and in the Impala in a matter of minutes.

Cas sticks his hand out of the car window while Dean drives. He glances at Cas, just to peek at his strong, angular profile, and he sees an unconscious smile on the face that at one time never smiled.

“What?” Dean asks, and smiles himself. “Why are you smiling?”

“Was I?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says.  “It’s nice.”

Cas sits thoughtfully for several moments and Dean lets him. “It just feels so good, Dean,” he finally says.

“What does?”

“It feels good to not be broken.”

The words are enough to make Dean believe in everything. “Yeah, it does, Cas. It really does.”

Dean offers his hand to Cas and Cas takes it, brings it to his mouth and kisses Dean’s knuckles. He loves Cas. He loves this life. And whatever lies ahead for them, whatever comes after they close hell and retire from hunting, he will love that too. The only thing he knows for sure is that it will be their choices, their decisions that get them there because, as a wise man once said, they’re making it up as they go.


End file.
